


A Life Alight

by iwtv



Series: Peach Verse [7]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Arguments, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Change, Repressed Feelings, Sex as Therapy, Slaves, also not a WIP it's already finished :), fights that lead to sex, james is quite happy being alone and isolated, mention of non-con, peach verse continues, slightly graphic violence, thomas craves more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-30 03:53:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: Did love, like life, continue where it left off? Or did it reinvent itself to fit new circumstances?Thomas finds a runaway slave in the stable.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another peach verse full-length ficcy. :) I'd like to thank all the flintham peeps on tumblr for your amazing discussions and metas about post-finale James/Thomas as inspiration for this little ditty. There was a lot of discussion about whether or not James and Thomas would both want to continue to live away from people and therefore civilization, so this is my attempt at exploring that.  
> It's not my end-all headcanon necessarily; I think that there's several possibilities about what might happen to them/ how they might feel long-term in Savannah and this is just one path I've chosen. Also I wanted to explore more of the slavery issue and see what would happen to my otp when the issue was shoved in their faces, lol, especially after all that's happened to each of them.  
> (Also there's a good amount of Abigail in this I needed her :)
> 
> So without any more babbling I hope you enjoy! <3

_What good_  
is a half-lit  
life?  
You  
can burn me  
to ashes  
as long as I know  
we lived a life  
alight. 

\--Tyler Knott Gregson

 

Abigail Ashe did not know what had awoken her, at least not exactly. She was not a heavy sleeper, especially not when spring turned into summer and the heat of the Savannah day lingered overnight.

Now, however, she was certain she heard a door close and the creaking of floorboards coming from just down the hall. It sounded as though it had been coming from the servant’s quarters. Abigail frowned. If Sundi or another house servant were caught out of their rooms after hours they would be punished. She liked the house servants and did not want to see them in trouble.

Abigail lit her bedside candle and threw on her gown. She slipped quietly out of her room and let her eyes adjust to the darkness of the house. She caught a movement coming from the balcony doors. She walked towards them cautiously, then froze when she heard the distinct click of a closing door.

Intensely curious and perhaps a little afraid, Abigail slowly neared the large glass-paneled doors and opened them with only a tiny creak. The balcony to her uncle’s plantation house was enormous and wrapped completely around the second story. And there, rounding a corner, Abigail saw through the candlelight a quick glimpse of a slave.

“What on earth….?” She whispered to herself. She quinted as the man hesitated. He half-turned towards her and Abigail was almost certain it was Sundi, the house’s only male servant who had been a field worker until a year ago. She had never known him to be disobedient; he was doing she knew he wasn’t supposed to be doing it. Oh, how she didn’t want to see him in trouble. He would be whipped or beaten. He might even lose his position as house servant and be reduced in status to a field hand.

Abigail carefully but quickly followed his path, rounding the corner several yards behind him. She quickly backtracked and shielded the candle flame when she saw Sundi had stopped again. He was pulling something out from inside his shirt. It looked like various bedsheets all knotted together. He looked around him again, then proceeded to tie one end of the sheets to the balcony railing. Abigail’s hand moved to her mouth to suppress a gasp. Was he escaping? But why? The household had always treated Sundi well.

Abigail watched him, desperately trying to decide if she should call out and try to stop him or let him go. The part of her that had always been saddened by the idea of slaves froze her actions and she let him slip over the balcony. After a moment she approached the tied knot. Below Sundi had hit the ground and, after looking in all directions, he crouched down and darted off towards the slave quarters.

Abigail looked out onto the property in dismay. Even at night the guards patrolled the outskirts of the fields, armed with bayonets and rifles. Fretting, Abigail angled her palm over the candlelight, trying to see further into the darkened night at Sundi’s dim figure. The black man came up to the side of a slave house—no more than a crude wooden shack—and stopped. Abigail thought she saw him tap the side of the building with his foot. A moment later a second figure emerged, pulling back a loose board in the shack’s wall and slipping outside. Abigail could not make out who it was and wasn’t sure she would have recognized him anyway. Her aunt’s husband had many slaves.

Abigail watched with growing fascination as the two young men seemed to talk in hushed tones. Then Sundi hooked his hand around the other man’s neck and pulled him into a kiss.

Abigail blinked, not quite believing what she was seeing. Sundi and the man were kissing on the lips, and it was not a playful kiss or a peck between two young boys. These were grown men, several years older than she. Astonished, Abigail looked away only when her eyes began to burn from the flame’s heat. It was then that she saw the guards. One was coming towards the building from the north and the other, some fifty feet opposite, had just turned a tight line and was coming from the west.

Abigail’s heart raced. If Sundi remained where he was he would be caught. She squinted again, wishing badly she could yell out just so Sundi would look up. But then Sundi’s companion _did_ look up. She watched as they started gesturing to one another frantically. The guards were nearly close enough to see them. Sundi was pushing the other man to the loose wood, begging him to go through. The other man seemed to think Sundi was going to follow. Abigail’s eyes widened when instead Sundi spun around just as Abigail heard one of the guards yell out to him to halt right there.

Sundi took off, running east. The second guard saw him and both shouted loudly and gave pursuit. Abigail doused out her candle lest either of them see her. She watched as Sundi ran like a gazelle, faster than she’d ever seen a man run. Someone was ringing one of the alarm bells. The entire property began to stir. Abigail ran back across the balcony and to the doors. She quickly closed them behind her and reached her bedroom door just as her aunt was emerging from her own room.

“Abigail!”

Abigail froze. Her aunt ran over to her.

“Something has happened, but please, stay in your room until I tell you it’s safe,” said her aunt, and swooped down the hall. Abigail let out a shaky sigh. She did as she was told, listening to the ever-increasing turmoil of the household: the alarm bell, the master’s dog barking, the shouts of guards from outside and finally the booming voice of her uncle--master of the house and the plantation--wondering what the hell was going on.

She closed her eyes and prayed that Sundi had escaped.

*

His boots crunched over more fallen petals as he picked another dud from the tree, inspecting the next group of small, green, and fuzzy fruit.

“That’s twenty-eight,” called out a young voice to his left. “Twenty-eight bad ones!”

James smiled and looked over at Cedric McMullen, son of Henry McMullen and their closest neighbor. He and his younger brother Issac had become a rather pleasant habit the last two growing seasons of helping him and Thomas out with the peaches.

It was late May. The blossoms had dropped away a week ago and their farm was just now getting fruit. They needed to go through and thin out the bad fruit to make more room for the good fruit. James had thought it a pointless practice at first, wanting to just wait until it was time to harvest and pick only the good fruit. But Thomas had insisted this tedious but necessary practice would yield them an overall better crop.

He had been right, James had been forced to admit. This year’s yield was the most promising yet. With the help of the two boys it also freed up their work load. The boys would return in a couple of months to help them harvest the ripened product. Then he and Thomas would load up the wagon and ride to town and to the market.

James rubbed his thumb over a good fruit and left it on the tree. It was good, honest work. The pay was scarcely decent because their farm was small, but as long as they had enough for the occasional clothing and supply purchases, everything else they needed they could take from the land.

It wasn’t quite what he had imagined all those years ago. He could still remember the day he had explained his intention for Nassau to Eleanor Guthrie, may she rest in peace. It was a proper farm he had imagined then, with livestock and a larger garden than what was here. But those seemed like small details now.

He was living with Thomas. Also not something he’d imagined, but something far, far better.

He was living off the land, just as he had wanted.

There were days such thoughts made him joyful, and he could remember the past and his second love, Miranda, rather fondly. He would think of how proud she would be of him, of _them_ , together and living in peace at last. Even so he had to tread lightly over those thoughts. His wounds may have healed but the scar tissue was thin at best.

Late afternoon turned into evening and the McMullen boys would need to return home for supper.

“Can’t we stay and sup with you and James?” Cedric was asking Thomas now, looking up at him hopefully and pulling on his sleeve. James laughed.

“Yes please,” said Issac, turning to James with the same puppy-eyed look.

“That may work on your father,” said James, “But you’ll find I am immune to such tricks.”

“Pleeeease,” the boys both whined in unison.

“Really Cedric,” said Thomas in mock disapproval, “you’re far too old to be acting in such a way.”

“I’m thirteen, not thirty!” cried Cedric. Thomas and James both laughed again.

“Sorry boys,” said Thomas. “But your father expects you home today. But next time I see him in town I shall ask him if you both may stay for supper then.”

The boys both perked up. They said their good-byes and took off running out of the farm. James shook his head, watching them disappear.

“Amazing they never bring a horse. It must take them nearly thirty minutes to reach their house on foot.”

“They’re young,” said Thomas. “Young enough that it doesn’t feel like work.”

James chuckled. They left the farm for the day and washed up inside. James wiped the sweat from his arms, neck, and face.

“Shall I start dinner now or do you want to wait?” asked Thomas.

“I thought it was my turn to cook,” said James.

“Mmm. It is, but for some reason I’m of the mood.”

James came up to him and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

“Some would say you are overly domestic for a man,” he teased.

Thomas kissed him back.

“If by ‘overly domestic’ you mean I do not burn our dinner and it is edible, then yes I suppose I am.”

James bit down the smile on his lip. Thomas followed the movement with his eyes.

“Or perhaps you’re hungry for something else?” he asked, gently pushing James up against the post in the kitchen area. James let himself indulge in deeper kisses, breathing in the scent and taste of his lover.

“We should probably eat first,” he said at last, pulling away and licking his lips. Thomas grinned.

“If you insist.”

*

He ducked behind a thick oak tree as the rider came down the road. He had travelled almost non-stop all day and night through the woods. It was difficult. They had set hounds out after him of course. Sundi had coated himself in dirt and mud, hoping it would help mask his scent. Mostly however he was hoping to stay far enough ahead of them until he found some place to hide.

He had no idea about his surroundings. He had been born in Virginia and sold to Mr. Goddard alongside his mother when he was still very small. The slaves who had come from the Old World—from home—always spoke of how strange the New World looked and felt. Now Sundi felt the same strangeness as he plunged on ahead, not knowing where he was going. He only knew he had done the right thing by leading them away from Chi. Chi, who had already been punished earlier that week for coming to the aid of an old woman who had fallen in the field. She was too sick to work. The guards had ordered him to leave her there but he had refused. He had been whipped until he bled. They did not like him even before that. Both he and Chi worried what might happen if they turned disapproving eyes on him a second time.

If anything happened to Chi he would not forgive himself.

He was exhausted and hungry by nightfall. But there was hope. At last he could make out a building up ahead. He had dared to walk closer to the road and had spotted the cabin-like structure on the other side. As he drew nearer he saw it looked like a house. Just a small, simple home, not part of a plantation.

Perhaps there was a stable. He could spend the night there and leave at first light before the owners stirred.

Sundi made a wide circle around the house and saw the rows of neatly planted trees near it. He paused, half expecting to see a white devil somewhere but the area remained quiet. Sundi made his way through the trees carefully and saw a crude stable just beside it and far enough away from the house. There were two horses residing there. He opened the stable door and approached them very slowly lest they startle. He piled up some hay in one of the corners and curled up for the night, exhausted and hungry and smelling horse shit. He thought of Chi and cried softly.

*

Thomas woke when the light stretched across his face. Next to him and further from the single window in their modest bedroom James had yet to stir. Back in London James was always first to rise, often teasing him for keeping his ‘lordly hours,’ as he called them. Now Thomas resisted the urge to tease him awake. Instead it sufficed that James was alive and sharing his bed; two facts that Thomas was grateful for every day.

He rose and made himself some tea, waking up to the mockingbird that chattered away almost every morning on the roof and to the heady smell of the honeysuckle bushes that grew out front. He finished his tea and he went outside to feed the horses. There was one well-formed, distinct footprint in the mud in front of the stable doors, a _human_ footprint. A closer look revealed fainter prints next to it. They were bare-footed prints. Thomas went very still, suddenly straining to hear everything around him. Nothing stirred other than the horses. He opened the doors with more than a little trepidation. If someone foreign were moving about inside, their horses would have spooked, he thought. Even so Thomas eyed the pitchfork propped against the wall as he entered.

He didn’t spot the huddled figure immediately. He was about to reach for the grain when he startled. There, against the wall, was a Negro man, asleep in a nest of hay. He let out an involuntary gasp, just a tiny noise, really, but the figure stirred. Thomas took a step sideways towards the pitchfork. He shoes crunched over some scattered hay and the figure startled awake. His eyes focused on Thomas and went wide. He leapt up, looking around wildly for an escape route but there was only the two half-sized wooden doors behind Thomas.

Thomas held out his hands and crouched down a little.

“I am not going to harm you, I promise,” he said slowly, hoping the man spoke or at least understood enough English. The man was braced to run, looking warily at Thomas. Thomas took him in. His dirt-covered clothes appeared to be servant’s clothes, much the same as the all-black wardrobes worn by his own Negro servants back in London. The man was indeed barefoot and Thomas thought he saw blood on the hay were he’d been sleeping. Otherwise the man appeared healthy and rather young—twenty-something, Thomas figured.

The man yelled out something to Thomas in his native tongue. His tone wasn’t exactly threatening but cautious. Just then James’s voice drifted to him. Thomas heard the door to the house close.

The man jumped at the new voice, eyes going wide again. There was only one thing to be done. Thomas stepped aside and gestured to the open stable doors.

“You are free to go,” he said politely.

James’s voice again, calling to him.

“That is my friend,” said Thomas slowly. “If you are hungry or thirsty, however, I am sure we can find something for you,” he added, suddenly hoping the man could understand and would not bolt away. He was very curious as to how the man wound up where he was. Furthermore it was evident, at least to Thomas, that he needed help.

The man stepped forward and away from the wall. He straightened himself and gave Thomas a baffled look.

“Do you understand me?” Thomas gently prodded when he made no signs of bolting for the door. The man hesitated. He cleared his throat.

“You…would let me go?” he asked in English, heavily accented with an African dialect. Thomas sighed in relief. He halfway turned his attention to James as James came into the stable.

“Thomas what—”

He cut off, seeing the third party. Thomas quickly raised a hand up to him. James looked as spooked as the Negro.

“It’s all right,” Thomas said quickly, to both of them. “We mean you no harm. James, move aside from the door.”

James’s brows furrowed. He looked unconvinced, giving Thomas a long look.

“Please James. I’m fine,” Thomas assured him.

James slowly stepped away from the door then, dropping his tense stance. The Negro’s eyes darted between the two of them and to the door. He slowly walked towards it, eyeing Thomas suspiciously as he passed. Thomas gave him a broad smile, hoping it appeared genuine and not the predatory smile he’d seen on the faces of too many guards in charge of his well being not so long ago. The man walked faster past him, glancing at James and then slipping out the door. As soon as he did so he broke into a run, dodging a few peach trees and then turning left, back across the wide dirt path that served as the only road. They watched him disappear. James ran a hand through his hair.

*

James had still been groggy from sleep before, but now he was wide awake.

“Jesus, are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Thomas repeated, letting out a sigh. “I found him sleeping over there. Must have been here all night.”

“No doubt he came from that plantation on the northern side of town. Goddings or Goddard-something,” said James.

“Goddard I believe,” said Thomas.

The name had had a familiar ring to it since they’d been told of Savannah’s largest plantation and its owner. James had paid little mind to any more information about the townsfolk. He found he had little interest in people these days. Even so, a slave in their barn was not an everyday occurrence.

“I hope he makes it,” said Thomas after a beat in which both of them were staring out after the now-absent young man. James grunted. He kept his thoughts from straying backwards in time.

Thomas went about feeding the horses and brushing their manes while James went back inside to make breakfast. He used their last four eggs, making a mental note to ask whichever McMullen kin he saw first for more. Mrs. McMullen was kind enough to bring them fresh eggs for a small price. The McMullens were a nice family. They ate lunch or dinner together sometimes and James liked to think of them as a typical New World family, mainly because they were the only family he and Thomas had grown acquainted with. They enjoyed their company and James found he didn’t mind them despite his lack of interest in everyone else around. Thomas often went into talking marathons when Mrs. McMullen confessed to her love of certain books and the ideas found therein. They were otherwise isolated out here unless the McMullens came over and brought with them news from Savannah, the rest of the colonies, and sometimes even news abroad.

Once, Mr. McMullen had brought news from the West Indies and how the pirate threat was slowly but surely being squashed. He had felt Thomas’s gaze on him then but had refused to meet it. There were times he didn’t mind speaking about it and other times he didn’t want to dwell on it. This time had been the latter. After the McMullens had left Thomas had not mentioned it.

Now as he made breakfast he thought of the slave rebellion that had occurred on New Providence. Try as he might the presence of the slave in their barn was stoking his thoughts. He was secretly hoping one day the McMullens would bring news of the treaty John Silver had brokered and that it was still holding up, though deep down he knew any agreement with white men would be a temporary thing at best.

He was scraping the last of the eggs off his plate when someone knocked at the door. Thomas had a mouthful of food so James waved him back in his seat and went to the door.

“Mrs. McMullen with more eggs I hope,” mumbled Thomas from the table.

James opened the door. There the young Negro man stood, flinching when the door opened. James blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Neither of them said anything.

“James?” Thomas called. “Who is it?”

James swallowed and unblocked himself from the door way. The Negro man took a miniscule step forward.

“I was offered food and drink,” he said after another moment. “Would that still be possible?” he asked.


	2. Chapter 2

The young man ate ravenously. James figured it must have been days since his last meal and that his need to eat had overridden his fears. They waited patiently while he finished the offering of bread, bacon, leftover egg, a bowl of soup, and two glasses of water.

“Thank you,” said the man in a voice that was now less tense. He wiped his mouth and scooted back from the table, rising. “I am very grateful. Now I will be on my way.”

“Wait please,” said Thomas before he could cross the room. “Won’t you at least tell us your name?”

The man stopped in his tracks. The wariness had returned to his face, his muscles tensing.

“We have no intention of returning you to your master,” said James plainly. “Or of alerting anyone that you’re here.”

The man’s eyes darted between the two of them again.

“Please,” Thomas tried again. “You certainly look as if you need help. There are many other plantations around, I’m afraid. Very difficult for a lone man to avoid, especially one so ill prepared.”

The man’s lips ticked down in a frown. He glanced down at himself as though he was just now aware of how he looked.

“Perhaps,” he said slowly. “I could use…some shoes, at least.”

They gave him more than shoes. Thomas was fully prepared to allow him to bathe, borrow clean clothes, and to give him a supply of food and water. He was also fully prepared for James to protest most if not all of it, aside from the shoes and food.

Instead, it was James who beat him to offering all of it to the man, whose name they learned was Sundi.

The two of them returned to the table while Sundi washed himself outside with the bucket of water and soap that had been offered to him.

“He seems reluctant to tell us where he’s going,” Thomas remarked. James sat across from him, playing idly with a fork.

“He probably doesn’t have any idea himself,” James replied. “He was born into bondage, with no understanding of anything beyond the borders of a plantation.”

“If only we had an extra horse,” said Thomas. “Some other way to help him.”

*

Abigail was poking at the duck on her plate with her fork when her aunt nudged her discreetly, eyes flashing angrily to her. Abigail straightened and put down her utensils, opting for a drink of water instead. She had let her mind wonder to Sundi again. As the days passed she grew more curious rather than less curious about his escape. Mr. Goddard and his wife, her aunt, were much less concerned about why he had run away than they were with preventing it from happening again.

“…And I want locks on all the servant’s doors after hours from now on,” her uncle was saying now after swallowing a mouthful of duck. “And on the slave quarters as well. He was conversing with someone else outside that night. I’ll not have any slave leave their quarters for any reason after hours. I’ve been far too slack with this place, my dear.”

Mrs. Goddard nodded in agreement. “Yes darling, I agree completely. You know the Kingston Plantation is getting a wall built around their slave quarters. I daresay you should consider it.”

Mr. Goddard grunted and nodded firmly, taking another bite of duck. Abigail frowned openly at him, knowing he would never notice. He scarcely paid attention to her and never really had, except to voice his exuberance about her engagement to Mr. Michael Collard, who sat next to her now.

Abigail dared a glance at the man next to her. He was four years her senior, with scruffy blonde hair that was always in need of a cut, bushy eyebrows, and a temperament that sometimes frightened Abigail. Over the last few months she had a growing concern that Michael was a violent person; she had seen him prone to aggressive verbal outbursts about politics and he often spoke of ill-will towards any slave that he heard was bothersome. He would call them all manner of names--some of which Abigail had quietly gasped at--before apologizing out of necessity rather than true penance. But what frightened her most was the way he sometimes looked at her, as though the same verbal venom that seethed from his mouth also inhabited his eyes.

She rather hated him.

The realization itself was still new. She had tried desperately to like Michael because, well, shouldn’t a wife at least _like_ her husband? Her aunt and Mr. Goddard got along just fine, after all. But Michael was not a person to even be liked, let alone loved.

Abigail had screwed up her courage once to speak about this to her aunt, but her aunt had brushed her concern away as if it were a pesky fly.

“Michael is a little rough around the edges, I’ll admit,” she had said, “But you must get to know him better. You will see. It’s perfectly natural to feel overwhelmed. Just think of what your father would have wanted for you.”

Abigail had sighed and nodded, feeling defeated. She instantly caught how her aunt attempted to blend the idea of Michael as a nice person with the idea of what her father would want and how silly the statement sounded, but if she pointed that out she would simply be chastised for it.

How she wished she could speak her mind instead of constantly pretending. The older she became, the more Abigail was realizing this inconsistency with herself. She wondered how prevalent it was in the household. Her father had been the same…

Abigail was reminded of that day in Charlestown, the day before the trial of James McGraw. One day after the death of her dear Lady Hamilton. Her father had not spoken the truth to her, and it had infuriated her. And then, still freshly arrived at Goddard Plantation, she had received the news of the raid in Charlestown. Two days later, she had received the news of her father’s death as a result of that raid.

Abigail pushed her plate away. Michael had said something to her but she had not heard.

“May I be excused?” she asked.

Her aunt glanced over at her.

“You’ve hardly touched your dinner,” she pointed out.

Abigail put a hand to her stomach.

“I’m afraid I don’t feel well,” she lied. It was improper for a woman to reveal she had stomach problems, especially at the dinner table. And at her age, Abigail knew that it also implied she was on her menses. It concerned her little, though her aunt’s face pinked slightly.

“You are a grown woman now,” Mrs. Goddard said tightly. “You do not need permission to leave the table.”

Abigail--using every bit of her eighteen years--stood and curtseyed, excusing herself. Michael also stood.

“Might I accompany you?” he asked in a flat tone.

“I was going to walk around the garden,” she lied again. Michael disliked it when she was close to the fields.

Michael made a face. “Good God, Abigail. Why must you go so close to those black dogs? You might pick up some disease.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Goddard spoke up, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “My Negroes have no diseases. I have them all thoroughly inspected.”

More than a little nauseated, Abigail left without another word. By the time she had reached the edges of the fields out back her nausea gave way to anger. She disliked the way her aunt and uncle spoke of the slaves, but she absolutely _loathed_ the way Michael spoke of them. He truly believed they were no better than dogs. Could he not see that they were people just as he was?

Abigail felt terribly lonely. She supposed something must be wrong with her, to think that there was nothing different about the Negroes when everyone else did. But then she remembered Sundi and his friend that night and the kiss they had shared. Dogs could not kiss like that. She almost smiled to herself at the thought.

So it was she found herself wondering along one of the paths to the slave quarters. She was not forbidden to be out in this part of the plantation _per se_ , although she would certainly get an earful from her aunt if she was caught out here.

As she passed by the first rows of rice plants she also found herself on the lookout for one slave in particular. The only way she had to remember the man Sundi was with was by a distinctive orangish woven bracelet on his wrist she had been able to make out that night. She walked all way to the end of one side of the field and began down another. Most of the slaves she passed did little more than glance at her. They had seen her out here alone before, simply strolling through the fields. If they did anything more than glance at her they would get the whip, she knew.

Abigail had given up her search when suddenly there he was. She saw the bracelet on his arm. The youngish slave was standing in the middle of the field, holding a straw broom as if it were a weapon, which, she supposed, it was. Its purpose was to help scare away the ceaseless attention of the birds who were constantly trying to get at the rice. The blackbirds, she had observed before, were the most persistent of the birds. Now she watched as the man ran at a group of the offending animals that had just landed in the field. He swung the broom high at them until they flew off completely.

“Are you the scarecrow for today?” Abigail said loudly and brightly to him from the path she stood on.

The man turned instinctively and quickly bowed his head, not looking at her.

“Yes ‘m,” he said.

A moment passed and Abigail almost forgot that he would not say anything else to her unless she spoke first. Thinking quickly, she pointed further down the field.

“I believe there are some birds down that way,” she said. “As it turns out, I am walking in the same direction.”

The slave gave her a quick glance. Abigail began walking. And so did the man, walking parallel to her and looking straight ahead. Two guards passed her, bowing their heads and tipping their hats to her. She waited until she had passed another guard before speaking again.

“There is a house servant named Sundi who his employed here,” she said. “He was more than a servant to me, however. I considered him a friend.”

She paused, watching the slave carefully, but he only blinked and kept looking straight ahead. She paused as he stopped to scare away more birds.

“He ran away a few days ago,” she continued, hoping this wasn’t a lost cause. “I believe that the two of you were friends.”

The man gave her a longer glance this time.

“I do not know anything about it,” he said quickly. “I do not know why he left or where, I swear it, ma’am.”

He had stopped and bowed to her and Abigail thought he looked like a frightened rabbit. She realized how she must have sounded.

“No, please,” she said softly. “Please, I am not trying to gain information for the master,” she said as sincerely as she felt. “I am truly concerned about my friend’s welfare, that is all.”

Another beat. The man very slowly dared to look up at her again. Abigail saw an emotion pass over his face…sorrow, she thought. Then he turned around and licked his lips, brows furrowed, and began walking back the way they had come.

“I am very sorry,” he said. “But I do not know anything about it,” he repeated. Abigail did not for an instant believe him but she knew she was unlikely to get anything more from him. Ah, if only she could have spoken to him as she would any other person, away from watchful eyes. She stopped and let him continue back to where he had been earlier. His sad face stayed with her the rest of the day.

*

Sundi shook James’s hand, then Thomas’s.

“Thank you,” he said again, bowing slightly in the manner he had been taught to do before white men. He shrugged the rucksack full of food on his shoulder. He was wearing an old pair of James’s trousers and one of Thomas’s shirts, both with a few small holes and wear and tear issues. Thomas—still retaining a few ghosts of his former self—had chosen much nicer clothes before James had reminded him that Sundi was a black man. Such clothes—though still quite quaint—would quickly attract the wrong kind of attention.

So Sundi departed from their cabin modestly but cleanly dressed, heading south. James and Thomas watched after him until he disappeared through the trees from their view. James frowned. He did not like this. He thought of the Maroon people, of their king and queen and their daughter. The McMullens and everyone else here would have called them savages and James would have snarled at them all. Madi’s people were a proud people, more intelligent and capable than a host of white men and women he had known in his time. How many of them still lived, he wondered.

“It isn’t fair,” he muttered. Thomas stepped up next to him on the porch, looking out in the direction Sundi had gone.

“I know,” he said.

James shook his head. “I’ve worked with the Africans; I’ve told you. And you became friends with some at Oglethorpe’s. We should still be able to _help_ people, they way you always wanted.”

Thomas let out a heavy sigh. He rested his forearms on the railing. James saw the light scowl shadow his features. It was a scowl Thomas had worn increasingly more often the last couple of months. James knew he was restless. He just didn’t know why. He ran a hand soothingly between Thomas’s shoulder blades and to the back of his neck, gently scratching along his hairline. Thomas leaned his head sideways, closing his eyes at the contact. Then suddenly his eyes popped open.

“I have a feeling…” he started. He abruptly left the porch and started off around the side of the cabin. At a loss, James followed.

“What? What is it?” he yelled. Thomas walked quickly to the front of the cabin and to the road. He paused, looking this way and that, before crossing the road to the woods on the other side.

“Thomas!” James called again, flustered.

Thomas stopped again at the treeline. James came to a halt beside him.

“What?” James hissed.

Thomas shoved a finger to his lips and pointed. James followed his finger and saw in the distance the unmistakable figure of Sundi, walking in the exact opposite direction he had started out in.

“What is he doing?” James said, baffled.

“Perhaps he forgot something,” Thomas said without humor.

James let out a huff. Well, whatever Sundi thought he was doing it was of no concern to him, though by going back he was certain to get captured or killed. The fool. And yet the longer James stood and watched him the more compelled he felt, until his feet were carrying him forward after the Negro. He made himself as silent as possible, taking long strides until he was roughly thirty feet behind the other man.

“Sundi!” he called out.

*

Sundi shifted uncomfortably in their cabin, arms crossed defensively. After a tedious conversation that had tilted towards arguing at times he and Thomas had convinced Sundi to return with them to their cabin. They had promised to help him, if he would only explain why he would be heading back towards enslavement and not away from it.

Sundi eyed them both, clearly not trusting either of them. James knew why, and it was as simple as the color of their skin.

“What if I were to tell you,” James said, “That I have also been betrayed by white men? That I used to be a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Navy, before I was forced out of not only the navy but all of England? Threatened with death if I ever returned.”

Sundi’s full attention was on him now. His eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“It’s true,” Thomas chimed in. “James and I were trying to help a group of people on an island. You’ve no doubt heard of pirates.”

Sundi nodded slowly. “I heard many tales of them from my people who made the middle passage.”

“And those tales were probably horrid,” James continued. “Stories about how they were brutal killers, or perhaps drunkards and rapists, cutting down anyone who stood in their way.”

Sundi did not nod this time but his eyes told James yes, he had heard those stories.

“Stories,” James said, “That made you think that all pirates must be monsters, unworthy of anything besides the noose.”

Sundi blinked, but the creased lines on his forehead smoothed away and James saw understanding dawn on him.

“That’s right,” said James. “Pirates and slaves are not so different. I was one of them once.”

By now he sensed Thomas’s gaze was fully on him; talking this much about either of their pasts to a stranger was certainly a new occurrence, and Thomas knew all too well how easy it was to prick oneself on its sharp thorns. Yet James felt none of those pricks now; he wanted to make a point to this young man.

Maybe even keep him alive.

“You? A pirate?” Sundi said, still not totally convinced but James saw his disbelief fading. He nodded once.

“Yes,” said James. “As I saw it, I had little choice at the time. Thomas had a plan to help out the pirates of New Providence Island, long before I became one. And some of the stories are true of course; there are plenty of ruthless and bloodthirsty pirates out there, but believe me when I tell you, nothing is so clear cut. I did what I did because I was enraged at England for how I had been cast out. Thomas too, paid dearly.”

James faltered. He could speak about his own past, but even now, thinking of Thomas in Bethlem threatened to crack open his feelings. He tried again.

“He was taken to a hospital—”

“I was imprisoned in a madhouse,” Thomas cut in, his tone flat. James’s chest ached just a little.

“I was taken to a place where they treat white men no better than your people.”

Now Sundi was looking at Thomas with something akin to a dark wonder. Even now Thomas knew how to capture an audience. Another ghost of his former self, James thought.

“So if you believe all of this,” James picked up again, “Then I hope that gives you reason to trust us enough when we say, very clearly, that we would like to help you.”

Sundi’s brows furrowed again as he turned away from them and looked out the room’s only window. James let out a slow sigh. He looked at Thomas, who gave him a tight smile that said ‘we’ve tried.’

Sundi was still looking out the window when he spoke again, his accent too familiar to James and making him nostalgic for other persons.

“I was returning to the plantation,” Sundi admitted. “But it was not to stay there. I was going to try and free another slave there. He is a close friend of mine. I am afraid they punished him because of my actions when I left. I was with him when we were caught. We—”

Sundi stopped, looking down.

“It is not important. What is important is that I wish to get him out of there.”

*

Two things were made clear to James that afternoon: One was that Sundi was going to try and free his friend, Chi, regardless of the danger to himself and two, he was going to do it with or without any help from Thomas or himself.

A third thing was also clear. This Chi must have been very dear to Sundi. Yet when Thomas pressed him for more information Sundi seemed reluctant. At last he said that Chi was his brother. James knew it was a lie. Sundi may have a talent for escaping plantations but deception was not among his skill set.

They put the discussion on hold for the rest of the day. He and Thomas needed to get at least some work done in the farm and the garden.

“What shall I do?” Sundi asked.

James raised an eyebrow. “You would want to do labor of your own volition?” he asked.

Sundi blinked.

“You would give me a choice?”

Thomas stepped up to Sundi and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Of course you have a choice,” he replied. “Sundi, you are not a slave here.”

Sundi looked between the two of them as thought he didn’t quite believe this.

“Why don’t you rest instead,” James suggested. “We have no spare room, but—”

“The stable then,” said Sundi as though it were normal that he sleep with horses instead of in a house.

“No, here by the hearth,” said Thomas. Sundi shook his head.

“No. I can sleep in the stable. I will be fine.”

Thomas’s brow furrowed but James halted his argument with a look.

“Very well then,” he said. “But you’ll take a blanket and pillow, and I’ll clean out the stall first.”


	3. Chapter 3

Later that evening after supper and when their guest had gone to the stable for the night, they sat in twin rocking chairs—built using James’s rusty but manageable carpentry skills—in front of the fireplace. They were usually quiet for a time after dinner but it was always an amicable silence, built on a familiar tiredness. Tonight however the quiet space between them weighed heavy with their collective thoughts.

“You know why I let him stay out there,” James spoke up.

Thomas was rubbing his knuckles over his lips, eyes staring out at nothing in particular. He blinked and looked at James.

“I do now, yes. He wasn’t comfortable with being in here. He still does not fully trust us. Smart for him, not sleeping around two white men, after all.”

“I was the same way when I first came to Oglethorpe’s,” Thomas added. His sapphire eyes met James’s and James felt another prick of pain.

“I had grown so used to my cell in Bethlem, horrid as it was. My mind was still so fragile, I thought that an actual clean bed might be some trick, some new form of torture.”

A haunted look passed over his face as it always did when he remembered that time. And as always James fought the urge to go to him, to say the nearly useless words of “I’m sorry.” They had both spoke that phrase so many times to the other they agreed to stop using it.

Instead James held his gaze and nodded.

“Your speech about pirates was very effective,” said Thomas. “Do you think we ought to tell him more about us?”

James considered it. Telling anyone anything about their past would always be a risk.

“Not yet,” he said. “We’ve gained enough sympathy from him for him to trust we are not the same white devils he’s known all his life. We need to be cautious.”

Thomas didn’t respond at first. Then, “So does that mean we will not be going with him to help free his friend?”

“We need to discuss this. And I did not say that.”

“You implied it.”

“I suppose I might have. It’s incredibly dangerous.”

“To whom?”

James couldn’t tell if Thomas was trying to bait him or just being blunt.

“Thomas, if we take part in sneaking onto a plantation—one of the largest in this area I might add—with a runaway slave and we get caught, our lives are over.”

Thomas huffed and stood.

“Cynical as always.”

He started pacing.

“This man,” he began, “—a boy, really—has escaped a life of misery and suffering, which in itself is miraculous enough, because as you said the plantation is a large one…”

James clenched down on his teeth, seeing the shape of an argument on the horizon.

“…And we have _told_ him that we want to help him…”

“Thomas—”

“And then we find out he would risk his freedom and possibly his life because someone he loves is still in chains…”

“Damnit, I don’t need a summary of what I already know!” James said loudly.

“Well then surely you see what’s so obvious,” Thomas snapped back at him. “How his troubles so resemble our own story.”

James sat back in his chair with a huff, eyes going towards the fire. Thomas loomed in front of him.

“I see it,” James said. “I do.”

Thomas said nothing. James mulled over his thoughts, trying to organize them. He left the chair and picked up a poker, stoking the fire.

“I’m having difficulty seeing how the risk is worth the reward,” he said at last. “He is one runaway. And as I said, if one or both of us were to get caught, you can imagine what would happen.”

He stood and looked at the tall blonde. Thomas was waiting.

“Facing the wrath of Mr. Goddard would only be the beginning,” said James. “Whatever serves as the law in these parts would become involved. They would want to know about us, who we are, why we are living out here. Even if we did not go to prison right away, it would be too easy for them to find out about you from Oglethorpe. From there it wouldn’t take much to trace you back to England. Then they would learn about me and then I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”

Thomas looked at him with tight lips. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I understand and I share your concern,” he said. “But surely you can see this is the right thing to do.The right thing for _us_ to do. If we are careful enough we should not get caught.”

James looked at him with sad eyes. Thomas gave him an exasperated look.

“He doesn’t want to be free if he is _alone_ James!”

James strode over to Thomas and took him by the shoulders.

“I know,” he said earnestly. “I know. And neither do I. I could not bear it. Which is why I’m so concerned.”

*

Thomas stilled. Here he had thought James’s concern was as simple as keeping them out of prison. But now as he looked into those deep green eyes Thomas saw a fear there. His heart clenched in his chest for the hundredth time as he imagined what it must have been like when James had learned of his imprisonment in Bethlem all those years ago. He thought he saw a glimpse of what James must have gone through—a paralyzing sensation that must have been similar to what he himself had felt once he realized he would never see James or Miranda again.

Thomas gently laid his hands over the arms that clamped over his.

“I would never suggest this if I thought that such a thing were inevitable,” he said softly. He cradled the side of James’s face, a thumb brushing over his cheek. James’s eyes closed momentarily, usually a sign of capitulation.

“You cannot know the outcome of this,” he said, opening his eyes.

Thomas’s hand slid away from him.

“Damnit, James—”

“You cannot,” James repeated. “In London, I might have accepted this without a second thought. You are right. It is the right thing to do. And I feel that now more than ever. But after everything we’ve been through, how could you want to risk all this?” he asked, voice strained. He flicked his wrist at the window in a gesture meant to encompass everything they had built for themselves here.

“He will get himself fucking killed,” Thomas seethed, becoming angry. “And you know it. If we choose to stand by and do nothing when it is in our power to help him.”

“Not at the risk of losing you!” James fired back at him, voice rising again. The veins in his forehead throbbed, his face red.

“So this is to be our lives from now on,” Thomas said, throwing up his hands in his own gesture at their surroundings. “Farming peaches. While the rest of the New World goes on and passes us by. Fucking fantastic, James. The world has passed me by for the last ten years already!”

He had yelled out the last sentence, chest heaving. The sentiment had been bottled up inside him for some time and now Thomas had released it, the timing neither opportune nor planned. James looked at him as though Thomas had physically hit him. Thomas inwardly winced.

“I’m sorry. It was not my intention to—”

“I think you’ve made your intentions quite clear,” James said in a low voice. He stormed into their bedroom and slammed the door shut.

Thomas closed his eyes as fresh tears stung them.

“Damn,” he muttered. He took several deep breaths, then left the cabin, slamming the front door shut behind him. He sucked in a breath of fresh night air. The humidity of the day had left, leaving a warm but much more tolerable night in its wake. The leaves of the peach trees rustled softly with a breeze. Thomas glanced skyward. The stars were brilliant overhead but there must have been a storm rolling in from the west because it was all dark. He spotted the edge of the storm from the starlight, the clouds giving off an eerie glow.

The wounded look on James’s face haunted him as he walked through the farm, his shoes crunching over the many bad seedlings they had been plucking off the trees. Already the remaining fruit was starting to hint at its yellow-orange color. By next month they would have peaches again.

He should not have said that about the peaches. Truthfully Thomas loved their peach farm. He loved the cabin they had built from nothing. Most of all he loved being his own man again and being with the man he loved. They could do as they pleased, make love as loudly as they wanted and, for the first time, no one was here to pass judgment. For a while he thought he had it all, because James was everything to him. Yet he was finding out that it did not necessarily follow that led to complete happiness.

His eyes drifted towards the horse stable. Even if they did not help out Sundi he would still have his Everything, but Thomas could not deny the restlessness he had felt the last couple of months. Their interactions with the McMullens and the joy of having the boys over only exacerbated his need to dive back into the world again. They only ever went to town once or twice a month for supplies, never to socialize or get to know the townsfolk. He had remained silent about these feelings because during the last few months, Thomas had also realized that James really _was_ perfectly content out here; he did not crave the rest of the world.

Thomas could not blame him. James had never been a social animal, and the thought of James lording over an entire crew of pirates for a decade must surely have drained whatever remaining tolerance for socializing he’d had. As for himself, he had no desire to return to the life he’d had; he did not miss most of it, but he did miss his access to knowledge and the news of the world. Yet even more than that, Thomas needed to know that there were still good, decent people living in the world.

Thomas sighed. But that was all secondary at the moment. Now, he wished only to be able to help Sundi. They would, all three of them, need to speak about this in more detail tomorrow.

Thomas quietly checked in on their guest, who was sound asleep on a pile of hay. He was using the blanket and pillow James had given him. Thomas smiled. Yes, they needed to help him, somehow.

He went back inside and hesitantly knocked on their bedroom door.

“Come.”

Thomas slipped in. James was in his breeches in bed, reading. Those jade eyes flicked up to his only briefly. Thomas knew by his face he was still upset. He put the book down and slid further under the covers. Thomas stripped down to his breeches and did the same, not sure what to expect. To his relief James slid his arm over Thomas’s waist and pulled him close, the bristles of his beard against Thomas’s neck. Thomas wiggled against him until he was comfortable and blew out the candle. The warm and familiar weight of James pressed against him was something he was grateful for every night.

“I’m sorry about what I said,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said it, not like that.”

He felt James’s chest against his back rise and fall with a sigh. Thomas waited with baited breath, mind grasping to say more, to better explain.

“You’ve been growing tired of things here, I can tell,” James said at last.

Thomas turned around so they were face to face. James’s eyes were huge and sad.

“Listen to me,” Thomas said gently. “I love our life here. I love it with every fiber of my being, I do. But I’m no longer certain it is enough for me,” he said slowly. “There are things I miss. When we first arrived here I thought I could go the rest of my life without knowing anyone besides you. I was sick of the world. You were too. And I know this does not bother you.”

It was not meant as a judgment. James’s brow creased. He pursed his lips and gave a nod.

“But clearly it bothers _you,_ ” James said. “Then we must remedy it.”

Thomas leaned forward to kiss his nose.

“One thing at a time. One day at a time. We’ll speak again in the morning?”

James nodded. Thomas turned back on his favorite side and James molded himself to his backside once again, feeling better.  
*

James woke first the next morning. He turned on his back and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, letting his mind start to work. He mulled over everything that had transpired yesterday and carefully considered the points of each of their arguments. He thought of Sundi and his brother Chi. He thought of Madi and Mr. Scott and the unintended slave uprising he and others had helped start on New Providence. It was an odd juxtaposition of thinking to want to see slaves freed from their bondage but not wishing for another uprising to occur. That was another worry, though not the top one on his list. He truly wanted to help Sundi save his friend, but the thought of being separated forcefully from Thomas again was too terrifying to bear. And they _would_ be separated, he feared, if it was learned that they were sodomites. He pushed the distasteful word around his mind. He hated it, hated the men who had invented it, hated the religious zealots who said it represented something evil, and he hated everyone who believed it so blindly.

Next to him Thomas stirred. He rolled over and his eyes fluttered open. He winced at the light.

“Morning,” said James with a small smile. How adorable his partner looked when he first woke.

“Morning,” Thomas mumbled back.

James let him awaken some more before kissing his forehead above his left eye softly.

“I love you,” he said.

Thomas caressed his bare arm, fingers tracing designs over his freckles.

“And I you.”

Again, the thought of losing Thomas again flashed into his mind unbidden and he pulled Thomas close to him and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Thomas must have recognized the meaning behind it.

“It will be all right,” he whispered, sapphire eyes penetrating into his. Thomas kissed him as assurance. James cradled the back of his head, not letting him pull away. Thomas’s lips opened and James slipped his tongue inside. Thomas hummed deeply. James disentangled the sheets from their bodies and let Thomas climb on top of him. He straddled James’s thick thighs, rubbing his hardening cock over James’s stomach while James opened him. When they were both ready he slid his cock inside Thomas and Thomas’s eyes closed, lips parted as he let out a low moan. James held back fucking him properly, instead moving inside him slowly and sweetly and bringing Thomas over the brink with a steady pull on his cock. Then Thomas dismounted him and climbed down between James’s legs, taking him in his mouth and making James come hard. When he was done Thomas climbed back up his lover’s body. Their lips met again and James pulled him close, raising his legs and wrapping them around the small of Thomas’s back.

“James please,” Thomas panted with a little laugh. He pulled back and soothed James’s hair away from his forehead.

“I told you, it will be all right. Tell me you believe me.”

James searched his face. How could he do or feel otherwise? He had always believed Thomas.

“I believe you. I believe _in_ in you,” he said. “I always have.”

“Then agree to this,” said Thomas. “Agree to help Sundi free his brother. We can do this, James. We can still affect change.”

“But it’s only ever been through bloodshed and loss of life in my experience.”

“Then we shall have to make certain it will never come to that this time.”

James sighed. "I hope it is so."


	4. Chapter 4

The only thing Thomas knew for certain when he left for town that day was that whatever their plan, it would be a necessary precaution to bring weapons. They had purchased a rifle for hunting a while back but they were nearly out of bullets. And the likewise they each had a hunting knife but no other proper weapons. So Thomas set out on one of the horses that morning in hopes of getting some ammunition and at least one other pistol if he could find one cheap enough.

He was happy to be back in town so soon again after their last visit. Before the growing season they were here even less and Thomas felt the isolation more.

It was busy this morning, with many vendors selling their wares in the marketplace. He recognized the faces of some plantation workers and a few statesmen, their leggings and wigs marking them as the wealthy class in this area. Luckily Thomas now looked like most everyone else here, with simple clothes and rough hands that told of years of labor.

He was leaving a gun shop after negotiating a price for the pistol he carried in a cloth when he looked twice across the dirt street. There was a young lady, very pretty and dressed in a blue and white dress. She looked oddly familiar. It was a cotton dress but still looked quite costly. She and the older woman she was with—similarly dressed—stuck out in the crowd. They were speaking with a man and a woman.. He was about to turn around and continue on his way when the woman looked in his direction. Stranger still she seemed to have the same reaction to him, her face overcome with confusion and then…recognition?

Thomas hesitantly walked her way. The longer they looked at one another the more animated the woman’s face became. She touched the older woman’s shoulder, said something to her, and then was quickly rushing Thomas’s way, one hand on her skirt and the other on her wide-rimmed hat.

“Pardon me,” she said when they met in the street. “Lord Thomas Hamilton?”

Thomas felt his body freeze all over with a kind of paralysis. He swallowed several times, completely at a loss with how to respond. Surely this woman was not a threat? This close Thomas saw she was barely a woman.

“Who are you?” he asked outright.

The young woman’s eyes grew into saucers.

“Oh!”

She raised a hand to her mouth, clearly stunned. Then she curtseyed.

“My name is Abigail Ashe,” she said. “My father was Lord Peter Ashe.”

Thomas blinked, mind reeling.

“Abigail Ashe?” he repeated in disbelief.

The young woman nodded.

“Abigail!”

They both jerked at the intrusive shout, which had come from the woman accompanying Abigail. Abigail turned and waved a hand.

“A moment, aunt!” she yelled back.

The woman rolled her eyes, fanning herself, and went back to talking with her companions. Thomas realized they were standing in the middle of the street. They stepped off to the side and further away from the woman Thomas guessed to be Abigail’s aunt.

“It _is_ you, is it not, Lord Hamilton?” Abigail asked, eyes still owl-like. “Please forgive me, but I was told you were dead!”

“I was, effectively,” replied Thomas when he found his voice again. Flashes of Peter Ashe filled his head. They stoked his anger but he pushed it back down.

“Abigail, what on earth are you doing here?” he asked.

She gave a little smile.

“I live here, my lord. In Goddard Plantation.”

Thomas’s mind felt like it was stuck in molasses. He gave a little shake of his head.

“Forgive me. I’m afraid you’ve caught me quite off guard. Of course you do. I remember Peter speaking about his sister’s fiancée living in Savannah. I suppose the better question would be what am I doing here?”

Abigail nodded. “My father told me years ago that a great misfortune had befallen the Hamiltons and that you had died of unknown natural causes.”

Her words should not have surprised him but still he felt them like a cold shock of water splashed in his face. The lies James had spoken about. Oh, the _lies_. But of course Peter would not want his young daughter to know such an awful truth.

“Your father told many people a great number of things,” he replied carefully.

“My father was not the man I believed him to be,” Abigail replied without missing a beat. Her bluntness surprised him.

_“Abigail!_ Come on!”

The intrusive aunt was shouting again. Thomas straightened.

“Perhaps you had better go,” he said. “We are starting to arouse suspicion, it would seem.”

Indeed, Abigail’s aunt and the couple with her were all looking their way, no doubt wondering who the strange older man was with her.

“Please, my lord, I wish to see you again, to know how you fair. And oh!”

She startled, eyes wide again. “Do you know what’s become of your friend Mr. McGraw? It was he who brought me back safely home from the Bahamas. Is he also still alive?”

Thomas resisted the urge to squeeze her shoulder.

“Abigail, if there is any way you could come about five miles south of town you will find a single log cabin with a peach farm. That is where I live. Go now,” he urged when he saw Abigail’s aunt making her way over to them.

Abigail seemed to sense his unease and to share it. She looked him in the eyes and said quietly, “I will.” Then she turned on her heel and intercepted her aunt. Thomas made himself scarce, not giving the woman a chance to address him properly. There was no obvious reason for him to want to avoid Abigail’s aunt, but there was still something skittish inside him. As Thomas walked away and back to his horse he knew what it was—distrust, borne from betrayal.

“Well, here is the world,” he muttered darkly under his breath.

He still had a long way to go.

*

When Thomas returned home he immediately informed James of his run-in with Abigail. He imagined the surprise on James’s face was how he had looked gawking at the young woman himself. However, they were both in for an ever greater surprise.

“Miss Ashe’s aunt is married to Mr. Goddard,” Sundi told them. “She lives at the plantation I ran from. Where Chi still is. She has always been very good to me, not like the rest of her family.”

James nodded. “She sounds like the same kind-hearted young woman I met not so long ago. I’m glad to know she was not there when—”

He trailed off. It took a minute for Thomas to understand why. James had spoken of his guilt over Charlestown. Most of it had been because of his actions regarding Miranda, but he had also mentioned Abigail and not knowing whether or not she had made it out alive. It was one of many heavy stones weighing down his mind. Now it was lifted. Thomas looked at him and smiled softly, resisting the urge to take his hand in front of Sundi. This was another issue. The longer Sundi remained with them, the more Thomas wondered how and if he and James should keep their true relationship from him.

They convinced Sundi to wait a little longer. If all three of them were to go to this Goddard Plantation, they needed to know its layout somehow.

*

James walked through their property by the river and checked the snares. He took Sundi with him and they walked back with two rabbits.

“Thomas can make us a stew for dinner,” remarked James.

Sundi nodded in approval, carrying one of the dead rabbits as they walked back to the cabin.

“You and Mr.—Thomas,” said Sundi. He remembered how Thomas did not like formal titles. “How do you know him? And why is it the two of you live as you do, without wives or a family?”

James answered him as smoothly as possible. “Thomas is a long-time friend. We met through the Nassau plan you already know about. After we were exiled, we needed to make a new start somewhere. Here seemed just as good a place as any.”

Sundi looked down as they walked. James glanced at him, saw his brows furrowed in thought.

“I understand. But I have also come to understand that white devils—white _men_ he corrected almost begrudgingly, “Are expected to find a mate and marry. It is similar in our culture. Is this not true?”

James forced a grin. He saw more room in which to respond to this, and truthfully.

“Thomas and I are still adjusting, you could say,” he replied. “Living here, after what we’ve been through, well, it takes time, I suppose. And that includes time to adjust to other people.”

“You need him,” Sundi ventured.

This time James avoided looking at the other man. Sundi was uncannily perceptive.

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

They fell silent as they walked through the farm. James automatically looked up at the boughs and the still-green fruit growing there, though they were becoming less and less green with each passing day. When they made it back to the cabin Sundi sighed deeply.

“I need to free my brother soon,” he said.

“You will,” said James. “Just give us a few more days to plan.”

*

“We might entertain the idea of telling him.”

“No. Absolutely not,” said James. He looked down at Thomas, who was half-sprawled over his chest under the sheets of their bed. James had been running his fingers idly through Thomas’s hair which always relaxed the other. He dropped his hand as Thomas raised his head off James’s bare chest to look at him.

“James, what possible damage could a Negro do to us? There’s no reason he would ever tell.”

James shook his head. This was something he wasn’t willing to budge on, no matter how much Thomas tried convincing him.

“I don’t want another single soul to ever know,” he said. Thomas blinked and looked almost hurt. Suddenly James realized how it had sounded. And yet…was that not how he felt?

“Thomas, please,” he said, hating the look in Thomas’s eyes as the blonde man sat up next to him with a wounded look.

“I understand,” Thomas said softly. “But is this not why you fell in love with me in the first place? I introduced the idea to you of not having any shame. Not about who you are or how you feel.”

“This isn’t about shame,” James said patiently. “It’s about good sense. Telling anyone about us, even a Negro, is one person too many. How could you even think it?”

“And here we are again,” Thomas huffed out angrily. “It’s been two years. And we’re back to the idea of staying cooped up in this cabin for the rest of eternity by ourselves, trusting no one.”

James bit down on his reply. Fuck. He felt miserable.

“Are you really so ready to be a part of the world again?” he asked quietly.

To his surprise Thomas hesitated. James raised the back of his knuckles to Thomas’s cheek, feeling the bristle of the beard he had yet to shave off. Thomas closed his eyes against the touch.

“Perhaps not,” he said, opening his eyes. “When I was in town today and Abigail’s aunt had spotted me, I wanted to turn tail and run. I had the sensation that everyone was suddenly noticing me all at once. I felt exposed in the strangest way. I… felt like I was being judged.”

His words dipped down on the last sentence, mouth ticking in a rueful smile. It made James’s heart ache. He had never thought he would see Thomas like this, once so confident and proud around everyone and anyone. It should have been only him to suffer this way, not the man who was responsible for making James believe his nature was good and just and not sinful. Not the man who showed him more love than anyone else ever had.

James ran a palm along Thomas’s chest, wrapping it around his ribs and kissing the top of his shoulder.

“We will get through this,” he said. “As long as you are by my side.”

“James.”

James shuddered. Only Thomas had the power to make his body react to his own name in such a way. Another small but important thing that had not changed over the years. James looked up at him. Thomas’s eyes were somber and intense.

“You will not drive me away,” he said. “Whatever our differences, we will work them out.”

“You realize in London, we never argued once. We’ve never had a true argument.”

The comical absurdity of the statement crept into Thomas’s smile, until he chuckled. It was an infectious sound that James adored and shared in.

*

The courier arrived just before noon the next day, huffing and puffing and holding out a letter to James.

“From Miss Ashe at the Goddard Plantation,” the boy panted out. “To be delivered to a Mr. Thomas Hamilton immediately.”

James nodded. “Thank you.”

The boy nodded back but didn’t leave. Thomas appeared next to him and dropped a few coins into the boy’s suddenly eager hand.

“Thank you, kind sir,” said the boy. “Good day to you!”

The boy turned heel and went running back down the road. Thomas went over to his writing desk and opened the letter with James at his shoulder.

_Mr. Thomas Hamilton,_

_Please pardon me if I do not have your title correct; I’m afraid there is so much about you that is a mystery to me. I am writing to give you an opportunity to visit me at the Goddard Plantation, as I am not able to come to you, though I sincerely wish I could. Tomorrow evening at six o’clock Mr. Goddard is hosting a dinner party with the family of my fiancée, The Collards. I do hope you are able to attend. And if by chance Mr. McGraw is also alive and around town please extend my invitation to him as well._

_I will not write long, however I do wish to tell you I dearly miss the company of your late wife, Miranda. Though I may never know all the details surrounding her, Mr.McGraw, and your own involvement with the affairs of piracy, I am certain that all of you were trying to do a great good in this world. I am only sorry my own father was to blame in some way for its failure._

_Furthermore, I realize that you may have reservations regarding the past and of speaking about it to strangers. Rest assured I have only spoke of fond memories of the Hamilton household to my aunt and uncle. What you choose to speak of, should you accept my invitation, is your business and yours alone. I will go along with whatever you may say._

_Enclosed is an invitation card to Goddard Plantation. I sincerely hope to see you there,_

_Abigail Ashe_

James took the letter from Thomas and re-read it. It certainly sounded sincere. And Abigail was clever; she had clearly put some thought into the message. Yet his mind kept circling back to the same question: Why on earth would Abigail want to see _him_?

Thomas leaned over his desk on his knuckles, thinking. James ran a hand over his beard.

“This would give us a chance,” James muttered. “To see the plantation.”

Thomas brightened instantly. “Of course! We could get the layout of everything if we are careful enough. Let Abigail show us around. Then all three of us would have enough knowledge to have a good chance at freeing Sundi’s brother.”

James could already see that this was the plan. Thomas was waiting impatiently for his response, sapphire eyes burning. James sucked in a breath. He looked at the letter again.

“Perhaps it would be better if only you attended,” he said. “I cannot fathom why she would want me of all people there. I do not know if she’s aware I killed Peter or not, but surely she knows I’m the cause for the destruction of Charlestown.”

Thomas stilled. He had not considered that. But the idea of Abigail scheming to entrap himself or James? It was unlikely. And yet the thought of being surrounded by strangers—strangers who were now higher class than him—and unable to simply turn tail and run away frightened him.

“No,” he said firmly. “I need you there. Despite what you may think I don’t believe I am ready for something like this by myself. And besides, if Abigail thinks you’re alive and wants revenge on you, then even if I informed her you were dead, she might call me out, tell them who _I_ am. Though I highly doubt it. She doesn’t seem the type.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” James said without hesitation. “You once called Peter Ashe your close friend. He didn’t seem like the type either,” he added coldly.

Thomas didn’t like his tone but he couldn’t argue his point either. Abigail was her father’s daughter. James was right. They needed to err on the side of caution if they were going into the lion’s den, so to speak.

They showed Sundi the letter. He was quick to agree to it all.

“Yes, Miss Ashe would be more than happy to show you around, I think,” he said. “I must tell you where to look for Chi’s quarters.”

Sundi did better than telling. He drew a crude but clear map of the locations of the slave quarters. James was impressed with the number of squares Sundi drew that represented the slave houses. That alone told James this must be a very large plantation. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad for them.

Once both he and Thomas were confident they knew where Chi was housed they fleshed out the rest of the plan.


	5. Chapter 5

He ran his thumb along the round green fruit. He’d found it next to the porch, away from the other bad fruits that had fallen. This one was large enough to fit snugly in the palm of his hand. It had been turning a nice peach color when it fell. There were no indications of insect or bird damage. He wondered idly why it nature had chosen to end its growth prematurely.

James sat it down on the small round table by the bed. All things should be allowed to grow to maturity and to do what they are supposed to do, he decided.

He had blown out the candles and lay in the darkness, but even some time after the house had grown quiet Thomas’s side of the bed remained empty. Too anxious to sleep anyway, James rose and walked the short distance to the rest of their humble cabin to find his partner.

*

Thomas took one more small shot of rum, just enough to give his head a buzz. It was late and he needed to go to bed. Tomorrow evening would be challenging, to say the least. And, if all went well, the following night would be even more difficult. He anticipated lots of running. How long had it been since he had need to run? That and a million other questions and possibilities swam through his head. The drink helped to quell them.

There were other things that plagued him as well, things he knew he shouldn’t be focusing on just now but they flitted through his busy head alongside everything else. What if…he had been so concerned about James’s feelings on the matter…but what if…and this was a new thing taking shape…what if James were to leave _him_? Perhaps he was as restless to stay away from the world as Thomas was to join it? James was stubborn and determined, and from what Thomas knew of Captain Flint it seemed these qualities had only increased in James with age. Thomas couldn’t shake the feeling he already had that James would be dead set against any suggestion of moving closer to civilization. What if it came to a breaking point between them? They had both been through so much. There was so much about the other’s last ten years that would never be fully understood, including the exact ‘why’s’ of how they each had changed.

Perhaps then, the gulf between them was already there.

Thomas felt sick. He slid the shot glass across the table and away from him. It was at that moment that the soft padding of James’s bare feet found their way into the main room. Thomas glanced up at him. Clad only in breeches and a light gray shirt, James still looked wide awake despite the hour. Thomas stood and put away the bottle of rum.

“Just nerves, I suppose,” he said when James eyed the bottle. But there was no fooling him.

“What else?” he asked patiently.

“Another time,” Thomas replied. He was not ready to discuss the chaos in his head just yet. James didn’t like that answer, but he did Thomas the favor of nodding and letting it pass for now.

“Come to bed,” he said with an outstretched hand. Thomas let himself be led to their room.

He tried not to cling to James that night.

*

Sundi spent the first half of the day learning about peaches.

Thomas and James were good teachers, especially considering he was black and they were white. Sundi was continuously in awe over the pair. He suspected James had not been entirely forthcoming about their circumstances, but Sundi held his tongue. He did not wish to anger them with any such inquiries, let they change their minds about helping him. And they did seem to truly want to help. The longer he spent with them the more comfortable he felt. He had known white men to be deceitful above all else; they would pretend to be friendly with him to manipulate. Yet this pair—along with dear Miss Ashe whom he actually missed a little—had not displayed any of the usual signs of trickery he’d come to know as part of the white devil’s nature. Thomas and James seemed to genuinely _care_.

Sundi suspected—among other things—that there was a more profound reason for that caring as well. It had to somehow connect to the half-story James had told him about his and Thomas’s pasts, but Sundi couldn’t seem to quite make the connection.

There was one possibility that had flitted through his thoughts, but no. It would have been too great a coincidence that they were like him.

There was some fuss later that afternoon as the two white men prepared for their journey to the Goddard Plantation as planned. Neither was certain about what to wear. Sundi had chimed in, especially to help Thomas, about how he had generally noticed the white men dressed. They were both nervous, he could tell. Oddly enough their apprehension seemed to give credence to their story; Sundi saw they truly were not part of the rest of the white man’s world.

At last they readied their horses. James told Sundi the horses could use a good brushing and some hay. Otherwise they all agreed it was best he stayed close to the cabin and out of view of the road altogether. Thomas remarked he thought he’d seen a group of men during his travel to Savannah who looked as though they were part of a search party.

“I’m surprised no one has come knocking on our door yet,” said James as they mounted their horses. “If someone does, you head for the stable. Hide in the hay.”

Sundi nodded his understanding.

“Please,” he added before they left, “If you get a chance to see my brother, please let me know how he is.”

“I promise we will,” said Thomas. Then they left. Sundi watched them disappear down the road. He hoped everything went well. Some part of him worried that the two men would yet betray him. Perhaps they would immediately inform Mr. Goddard of his whereabouts to collect whatever bounty was on his head. Sundi decided he ought to be ready for that scenario. It would be close to dark, he figured, when they returned. When they did he would hide behind the peach farm. There was a wide river that flowed just beyond it. Thick underbrush grew there. He would hide in it until he knew for certain James and Thomas had returned alone. If they did betray him at least he would be able to escape and would still have a chance to free Chi.

Sundi dug into his pocket and pulled out the tiny doll Chi had stitched together for him. It was crude but it had eyes, a nose, a mouth, and wore a little dingy outfit that resembled Sundi’s clothes. He brought the doll to his lips and kissed it, his heart aching. How desperately he wanted to be with Chi, to touch his face and embrace him again, to feel his lips pressed against his own. Each passing day without him was proving to be agonizing. He knew they would never be able to be with one another the way they wanted, but even if they spent the rest of their lives on the run, Sundi reasoned, they would be doing it on their own terms, without worrying about the overseer’s whip. A life of fear and hiding was better than a life of constant pain and suffering.

He ran his fingers over the little doll and thought about his new friends.

“Please do not betray me,” he whispered to the doll.

*

It was five forty-five when they arrived at the gates to Goddard Plantation. They dismounted their horses and were shown down a lengthy dirt path to the plantation house. James took in as much as he could of his surroundings. The plantation was as large as he’d thought, larger even. There were many smaller buildings scattered here and there, with the residence itself looming large over everything else. To his left and right were endless fields of what James assumed was rice judging by the banks and ditches built with the soil. And further in the distance, ah yes, he saw the female slaves trampling down the seeds. He saw no slave quarters out front and knew they were all consigned to the back property, where no doubt there were more rice fields.

They reached the front door. The house itself, James saw, was impressive. The closest he had for comparison was Mr. Underhill’s house on New Providence. But this house was larger and more plush. The porch they stood on looked to wrap completely around the house, as did a second-story balcony above them. He counted four windows on each side of the door, on each level.

“Mr. Thomas Hamilton and Mr. James McGraw to join Mr. Goddard for dinner,” Thomas told the servant that answered the door. He handed the man the card Abigail had sent along with her letter. The servant-a black man—smiled and nodded. He stepped back from the door.

“Do please come in Mr. Hamilton and McGraw. Please wait here while I inform the master of your arrival.”

Thomas and James nodded politely. James already felt out of place and awkward. As they waited in the foyer he saw fine little grains of sweat on Thomas’s forehead. He discreetly clasped his fingers around his lover’s. Thomas looked at him and squeezed his fingers, mouth ticking in an aborted smile.

“Are you sure we can do this?” he whispered.

“Yes. You’ve always been better at this kind of mingling than I,” said James.

Seconds later the servant returned and invited them in.

*

Abigail had been peeking out the window when Thomas Hamilton had arrived. To her astonishment a very familiar face stood next to him. It was James McGraw. He looked a little different than the last time she’d seen him—his hair was shorter and he no longer wore the frightful clothing of a pirate. For that she was grateful. He had survived whatever had happened in Charlestown two years ago and seemed to have come out the better for it.

It pleased her even more than he was with Mr. Hamilton. For once she was actually looking forward to dinner. She left the window as the two men were admitted into the house. Abigail smoothed out her dress and took a final look at herself in the mirror. She reminded herself that she was no longer a giddy girl and needed to act accordingly despite her excitement. She descended the winding stairs to the first floor. She heard Thomas’s voice and followed it to the dining room. Her aunt and uncle-in-law were greeting their guests. When Thomas saw her he smiled, though he seemed apprehensive.

“Miss Ashe,” he greeted her.

“I’m so glad you accepted the invitation,” she said, unable to quite hide her enthusiasm and hugging him lightly despite herself. Thomas chuckled. Then Abigail turned to his companion. Abigail had intended on giving James a courtesy and little more, but when her eyes met his a wave of emotion took hold of her and instead she threw her arms around him.

*

James stiffened, completely thrown off his guard. Abigail was _hugging_ him. Abigail was _glad_ to see him. She did not know, then, that she was embracing her father’s killer. Abigail looked up at him sheepishly, her cheeks flushed. Her aunt scolded her.

“Forgive me,” she said softly. “It’s just I am so grateful you are alive.”

James looked at her. His throat felt thick and syrupy. And damnit, his eyes…He sucked it all in as best he could and nodded at her.

“Thank you kindly, Miss Ashe. I am glad to see you look well.”

There. That was an appropriate response, wasn’t it? And he found as he spoke it was true; he had not expected himself to react this strongly to her. He looked to Thomas for guidance. Thomas gave him the smallest nod, eyes smiling. Well, they were off to one hell of start to the evening.

*

Mr. Goddard, Thomas observed, reminded him of a cross between Mr. Oglethorpe with his mannerisms and his father when it came to his viewpoints. The picture as a whole was rather displeasing. Mr. Goddard had no qualms about things that would make the New World better than the old, as he put it. Chief among them was slavery.

“Mr. Collard here agrees with me, don’t you lad?” Goddard said to Michael Collard, seated next to Abigail. Thomas noted the frown on her face every time Michael spoke.

Michael swallowed his food and took a sip of wine.

“Yes sir,” he agreed loudly.

Abigail’s aunt and the woman seated next to her both shook their heads and sighed.

“Honestly, must we discuss politics at the dinner table?” she scolded her husband.

“We have two male guests, my dear,” said Mr. Goddard. “I’m certain we can spare a few minutes from inane chit-chat to discuss important matters.”

He shared a look and a small laugh with Michael Collard. Thomas found himself resisting the urge to use Abigail’s frown.

“Mr. McGraw,” said Goddard. Thomas watched as James visibly flinched, looking up for the first time in perhaps ten minutes from his plate.

“Sir?” asked James. Thomas was instantly taken back to London all those years ago, at the scene of another, even more tense dinner. How timid and proper James had sounded. He sounded proper now, but never timid. Never again, Thomas thought.

“What do you think about the New World’s workforce? Surely you understand how profitable it will become, if plantations continue to grow at the rate they are growing?”

Thomas felt his muscles growing more tense with every word the fool Goddard spoke.

“I think,” James began slowly, “That it would be wise to err on the side of caution. Get enough angry slaves together, and they’re liable to start an uprising.”

Thomas bit his cheeks to keep from grinning out of pure spite.

“Yes,” said Abigail suddenly. She had been quiet for a time. Now she looked animated, Thomas thought.

“I think the same,” she continued, not without some gusto. “If we do not treat them like civilize people, it will only hurt us in the long run.”

Her fiancée next to her scoffed loudly. “Honestly Abigail, where do get these notions? You must stop reading that garbage from the printing press in town.”

Collard looked across the table to Thomas and James for help. Thomas glared at him, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

“Logic and reason are never garbage,” he countered, feeling something warm and familiar rising in his gut and giving him confidence. “Slavery may be profitable and it may be easy, but that does not make it the best way to run an economy. The major cities of the world are past such things.”

Mr. Goddard took a long drought of his wine and swirled it around in the air, pointing a finger at Thomas.

“Ah, you’re a philosopher of sorts. I can tell. A man ready to debate.”

 _Try me, you louse,_ , Thomas thought almost devilishly.

Instead of speaking those words, Thomas carefully sat his silverware down. He felt James’s hand on his thigh under the table. He dared a glance. James wasn’t looking at him but at Abigail. They seemed to be silently communicating with one another. Whatever it was, Thomas was sure that Abigail wanted nothing to do with her fiancée—or her guardians for that matter. He also felt assured that she would not betray them.

“Mr. Goddard,” said Thomas. “I wonder if you might indulge me for a moment with an odd little idea I’ve had for quite some time.”

“Why most certainly, Mr. Hamilton,” said Goddard, all too eager to spew out his toxic viewpoints.

The hand on this Thomas’s thigh tightened a little. Thomas moved one hand under the table and placed his hand over James’s to reassure him. His other hand was on the tabletop. He leaned back in chair, appearing comfortable.

“I’ve been in the New World long enough to hear one particular thing many times over, and it is that most slave owners here in the New World view slaves as property and treat them the way one would treat a dog or a cat, correct?”

Mr. Goddard nodded and shrugged as though Thomas had asked him about the weather.

“But oddly enough,” continued Thomas, “I have never seen a man treat a faithful dog or good mouser cat poorly. They are often rewarded for their good service. At the very least cats are allowed to stay around one’s property in hopes of keeping the vermin population down. But even abused dogs and cats, I’ve noticed, are allowed the liberty to sleep where they want and search for food when they are hungry. Likewise, most people don’t seem to care what alley cat mates with another alley cat or what dog mates with another dog…”

“Now wait a moment, Mr. Hamilton…”

“So why then, do we feel the need to exert control over all these aspects of the black man, I wonder?”

He heard what sounded like muttered prayers coming from the ladies at the table, with the exception of Abigail, who was all but gawking at him in amazement. Next to her the young Mr. Collard kept throwing glances to Mr. Goddard, who was rising out of his seat as Thomas kept speaking. Thomas finally leaned forward in his chair.

“It is because we know we need to control _them_ ,” he continued. “Because if we do not control their daily lives, if we do not beat them into submission, we know they will be tempted to try and escape...”

Mr. Goddard was shaking his head furiously. “No, no, Mr. Hamilton…”

Thomas’s voice rose. “And why, Mr. Goddard, is it that they would be tempted to escape?”

“They are tempted by the devil because they are the devil’s children!” Michael Collard boomed, slamming a fist on the table. Oh, how Thomas wanted to slap that one into submission, until he was crying like the little spoilt boy he was.

Louder exclamations from the women. Mr. Goddard tried to calm them down.

“Mr. McGraw,” Goddard shouted, quieting everyone. “What do _you_ think about it?”

Thomas watched as James clasped his hands together, bowing his head for a moment. He looked up at Goddard with cold eyes that made even Thomas want to shudder.

“I think,” said James calmly, “that what Mr. Hamilton was getting at, is that it is in the slave’s nature to try and escape their bondage, because no man wants to be imprisoned. Slaves are actually _people_ , as I am sure your own eyes can attest to.”

Silence followed James’s words like a heavy blanket draped over everyone present. Thomas saw Mrs. Goddard make the sign of the cross. Abigail was beaming.

*

“Equal treatment for Negroes?” Goddard asked in indignation. James would have been bursting with pride if he wasn’t also clenching one fist tight enough to leave marks. He saw in Thomas the firebrand, the determined and even arrogant man he’d fallen in love with, the idealist who was ready to take on the world. And despite all James had been through, including the crumbling of his own idealism to an extent, he felt his chest swell as he watched Thomas.

The thought struck him, _If this were my introduction to him, I’d still be fucking smitten._

“May I ask, sir,” Mr. Collard interjected with barely-concealed disdain, “What it is that has brought you to this most… _peculiar_ state of mind?”

James glowered at Collard over the brim of his wine glass. He hated this little shit, but more surprising was how he despised the idea of Abigail marrying him. He realized with a jolt he’d been foolish to have thought ill of her; the divide between Peter’s daughter and the remainder of her kin was obvious.

James pushed the thought to the side. He tensed at Collard’s question. Thomas gave Collard a mirthless smile.

“Suffice it to say, Mr. Collard,” Thomas said, “I have found that one’s knowledge and expectations—no matter how vast and great— are often drastically different than what is learned from one’s personal experience, and that people who believe themselves to be with endless power are the most cruel towards their fellow man. Would you be so kind as to pass the bread, Miss Ashe?”

And just like that Thomas—intentionally or otherwise—ended the discussion. The rest of dinner was mostly quiet. Eventually Mrs. Goddard and her lady friend returned to gossip and Mr. Goddard and Mr. Collard engaged each other in more amicable conversation.

It was Abigail who offered to show them around the grounds, freeing them of the asking of it. She spoke more freely once they were out by themselves, with only the occasional passing guards to worry about.

“The truth is, though I love the townsfolk and Savannah itself, I do not care for my aunt and uncles’ views on practically everything…If I may be so bold,” she added with a contrite look to James in particular.

“You’re speaking to a former pirate and a former prisoner,” said James. “I doubt we have many qualms left.”

He gave her a ghost of a smile which seemed to relax her but then she turned to Thomas with wide eyes.

“You were imprisoned?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Thomas as they came upon the first of the rice fields, its caretakers hard at work, sweating under the Savannah sun.

James listened mostly passively as Thomas gave Abigail an overview of his time at Oglethorpe’s plantation. Abigail was mildly horrified to know he’d been so close and living as a prisoner all this time. Again, despite himself, James was touched by her concern. He was dangerously close to caring about her.

“I understand much better now,” said Abigail at the end of the tale. “I knew something bad had befallen all of you, but my father never explained to me what. I think a part of me knew even before the events of Charlestown that he was lying to me. I am so sorry, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. McGraw.”

She had stopped walking and looked at both of them in turn, her dark doe eyes filled with more grace and intelligence than James had remembered.

She reminded him of Miranda.

He glanced around them. The closest guards were some fifty yards away, standing and yelling at a man in the field for working too slowly. James with them with contempt as they threatened him with a whip.

“Abigail,” James said, edging closer to her. He looked at Thomas, who nodded in silent agreement. They both felt they could trust her.

“Do you recall a runaway slave recently, who escaped about a week ago. His name was Sundi…”

Abigail was already nodding her head.

“Yes. He was a house servant. I witnessed his escape, though I have not told anyone that,” she said in a low voice.

James licked his lips.

“Abigail, Sundi found his way to our cabin.”

Abigail blinked in surprise.

“Oh my,” she muttered.

“Can we trust you,” Thomas asked, point-blank.

Abigail regarded him for a moment, then nodded.

“You do not have any intentions of bringing him back,” she said with hope.

Thomas shook his head.

“Absolutely not. But Sundi is very worried about his brother, whom is still here.”

Abigail’s brows furrowed.

“Brother? I was not aware he had a brother. No…in fact, I know he does not. Sundi was purchased and brought here with just his mother when I was very small. She died a few years ago.”

“Are you certain?” asked James.

Abigail nodded. James was at a loss. Thomas gave him a look that said he was too.

“Unless…” Abigail started. Her eyes darted back and forth, thinking. Then her brows drew back.

“Oh. _Oh_.”

Two guards were coming their way. Abigail started walking along the path again. He and Thomas followed. When the guards passed them they all curtly exchanged nods. The guards tipped their hats and muttered, “Lady Ashe” and went on their way. As soon as they were out of earshot Abigail continued.

“The night Sundi escaped, he had climbed down the second-story balcony to the ground, but instead of running away from the fields, he ran straight towards them. I was very confused as to why he would do that. He stopped at that slave house there.”

Abigail pointed behind them. James turned and saw the nondescript shack she pointed at, looking like all the others.

“He made some sort of sound and another slave came out. I did not know his name, but he and Sundi…”

Abigail sucked in a breath, suddenly reluctant to continue though James felt what she was about to say was very important.

“Go on,” said Thomas. “This stays between the three of us.”

Abigail looked at him and nodded.

“They kissed,” she said. “Only it was not a brotherly kiss. It was the kind of kiss…”

She trailed off. James shot a look to Thomas.

“The kind of kiss between lovers?” he offered, lightly laying a hand on Abigail’s shoulder.

Abigail nodded. “Yes,” she said in a hushed whisper.

Thomas sighed and gave James a somber look. “Well then.”

James ran a hand over his beard.

“This is even more important,” said Thomas. James nodded. “I know.”

“Sundi wants to free his lover, doesn’t he?” asked Abigail.

Neither one of them answered right away. James was still looking at Thomas.

“Yes, my dear,” said Thomas dragging his eyes away from James. “He does.”

“And are the two of you intending on aiding him in this?”

James winced. By god, was she clever.

“We are,” he said. He had a feeling that lying to this girl would be a waste of time.

“Well then,” said Abigail, hiking up her skirts and leading them on, “You are going to need my help.”

They started back towards the house. James’s anxiety grew with each step. Now would be an opportune time to tell Abigail the truth about her father’s death. All thoughts of making amends however he could and of further suffering for his crimes had only ever been with Thomas in mind once they had reunited. It was just, he decided, that he should confess his sins to a young girl (as he still saw her)—a girl who could have represented the daughter of the magistrate’s wife he’d killed, or one of the countless widows and orphans he’d created in Charlestown and elsewhere.

“Miss Ashe,” he called out, stopping behind them. She and Thomas turned.

“Abigail,” James started again. He rubbed his fingers together, feeling the sweat break out on his face and under his arms.

“Yes?” she asked. He recalled the moment in Peter’s house when father and daughter had embraced one another. She had loved him, James, knew, despite his faults. She was a good daughter.

He felt sick. Thomas was looking at him with concern.

“Abigail, I must tell you something before you commit to helping us, something which might—which should—affect you greatly.”

His eyes flickered away from her. Two years ago he would have felt almost nothing for her—Flint was accustomed to burying his emotions so well he’d forgotten he could have them for more than one person at a time. First there was only Miranda, then only Silver, and now only Thomas. And now…

“James,” said Thomas in a wary tone. He took a step toward his partner. James knew he saw what he meant to say. James forced himself to look at Abigail instead.

“You know your father died in Charlestown,” he began. She nodded, expression turning somber. James licked his lips and swallowed.

“He died not from a stray gunshot or cannon fire but by my own hand. I killed him in the square as I was escaping.”

Abigail blinked rapidly, brows drawing together into a pinch. Her lips parted and she took a step away from him. James felt utterly helpless. What more could he say? He wasn’t sorry for killing Peter.

“I am deeply sorry I have stripped you of a father, but that is all I can say. Perhaps my crimes are greater, but his crimes cut me to the core.”

Abigail’s doe eyes were grave.

“I…I see,” she said. James saw the moisture pooling in her eyes.

“I…please excuse me. I trust you can find your way back.”

She turned swiftly and started back without them, white dress billowing around her and making her dark hair even more vivid. And in that moment she reminded him painfully of Miranda.

He felt a wave of nausea overcome him. Thomas was at his side, a hand clamped around his arm.

“James!”

“I’ll be all right,” he said after a moment. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another awkward dinner party that ends with the "proper" people being highly offended xD. Hope everyone liked. Comments are appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit longer chapter this time. :) Trigger warning for a mention of rape but it's none of our main characters. Also our boys get a bit nsfw. >:)

It was a long wait.

Sundi shifted restlessly in the underbrush by the river. Then, after night had fallen, he heard distantly horse’s hooves over the steady rush of the river behind him. Sundi immediately walked down to where a piece of road was visible through the peach trees. He crouched back down and waited. The horses drew closer. He squinted in the darkness. He could never have made out the riders from this distance and in the dark but he did recognize the two horses he’d spent so much unintentional time with—Thomas rode a black horse with tall white leg markings and a long diamond on its nose and James had a light brown horse with near-blonde mane and tail.

Sundi watched as the same horses were guided off the road and towards the stable. He waited, listening intently for more riders approaching but heard none. James and Thomas dismounted and led the beasts into the stable. He heard what he assumed was grain being poured to feed them. There was some talk. Then the two men exited the stable and locked it up. They both looked around the peach farm and Sundi knew they were wondering where he was. Still wary, he waited until they had both gone inside the cabin. Still no other riders. Sundi let out a relieved sigh and left the bushes.

*

James was cleaning the weapons Thomas had purchased when the knock on the back door came. Thomas looked up from the kettle over the hearth.

“I’ll get it,” he said.

James lay a hand across the pistol he was cleaning just in case. Thomas opened the door and there was Sundi.

“I am sorry I hid from you,” he said right away. “May I come in?”

Thomas smiled. “Of course.”

Sundi came inside and James removed his hand from the gun.

“I was afraid you would still betray me to Mr. Goddard,” explained Sundi. “So I hid by river until I saw you return alone.”

“You were out there all evening?” asked James.

Sundi nodded. Thomas frowned. Neither he nor James were surprised yet Thomas wanted badly for Sundi to trust them.

“Perhaps now you can trust us fully,” he offered.

Sundi nodded. “I believe I can now, yes. But may I also say that I think you are both crazy. Two white devils helping a black slave. It is crazy.”

James let out a laugh and so did Thomas. Sundi looked between the two of them. His mouth twitched upward. “Like I said, crazy!”

*

They told him the full plan. Thomas felt much more confident of it now that they had seen the plantation in person. Its large size would be made to work for them, with Abigail’s help. Sundi was in near disbelief to hear that she would help. He shook his head and told them Miss Ashe must have caught what he called their “crazy disease,” but then he’d smiled.

“And my brother, did you see him?” Sundi asked excitedly. “Is he well? Have they beat him?”

Thomas couldn’t help but to exchange another look with James at this subject. Something told him it was best to keep playing along.

“We saw him working from a distance,” he said. “Abigail pointed him out to us. She did not know if he’s been beaten since you left but he appeared to be doing fine.”

Sundi nodded tersely. Thomas saw something kept drawing his attention to his pocket; something Sundi kept touching. When Sundi caught him looked he withdrew a fist and opened it.

Thomas looked down at the little brown doll, with pins for eyes and straw hair. An outfit that was clearly African of some sort had been stitched onto it, along with its nose and lips.

“Something Chi made for me,” said Sundi. “In our family’s tribe back home it was a tradition for both young men and woman to make such things as gifts. They give you…ah, how do you say it in English?... ‘good luck.’”

“May I?” asked Thomas, reaching out a hand. Sundi nodded and let Thomas pluck it up. Thomas grinned at the little thing.

“My, it’s very lovely. I wish I had learned the skill of sewing when I was younger.”

“Abigail once told me that white men never learn such things,” said Sundi. “She said it was inappropriate. You are most certainly not like the others,” he added, looking at Thomas and then to James.

Thomas smiled. “I think we will both accept that as a compliment, Sundi.”

*

Abigail had told them that Mr. Goddard was to spend that Thursday at the Collard Plantation. It was a socio-political event where the town magistrate and the most important tradesmen of Savannah would be in attendance. James knew perfectly well what type of gathering it would be, filled with a watered-down version of the participants who had attended such parties back in London. He’d been with the Hamiltons for those occasions and did not miss them one iota. He also knew that they would last most of the day, something Abigail had also confirmed. That, plus the distance between the two plantations virtually ensured that Mr. Goddard, his wife, and at least two servants would be absent from the plantation until well after dark. That gave them a smaller window in which to operate but as long as they were prepared to carry out the plan just after dark all should go smoothly.

*

With everything set to happen in two days’ time on Thursday and the hour grown late, they broke apart for the night. James and Thomas once again tried to coax Sundi to sleep in the house, but the young man still refused, now saying he was afraid someone might come knocking on the door unannounced.

After they’d said good night and Sundi had retired to the stable once again Thomas collected a wash rag and some soap.

“I’m going for a quick wash-up,” he said. Usually he washed off the day’s stickiness and grit before dark, but that had not been possible today.

James nodded.

“I think I’ll go to bed early.”

Thomas kissed him lightly on the lips. James’s expression was tight.

“We need to talk about today,” Thomas said quietly.

“Yes. But later.”

Thomas could only imagine the tumultuous thoughts rumbling through his lover’s head. He also knew, given how quiet James had been on the trek home that it would take some convincing to get him to talk.

Somewhat reluctantly Thomas left the cabin and walked across the farm to the river, carrying a lantern. As he washed he wondered how deeply James’s reveal to Abigail would affect her by Thursday. Her own part in their plan was not a critical one and though he surmised they could accomplish it without her, he found himself greatly hoping Abigail would at least remain on speaking terms with them— _both_ of them. If not he wondered darkly if James would be so upset by her rejection. Clearly she seemed to matter to him, but Thomas realized with a sharp pang of fear he still did not know everything there was to know about post-London James. Their lives after leaving Oglethorpe’s had been mostly quiet and uneventful regarding other people.

Perhaps Thomas was still discovering himself as well. They had been separated for so long. So little time, it seemed, had been the past two years.

Did love, like life, continue where it left off? Or did it reinvent itself to fit new circumstances?

Thomas had been asking himself that question for some time and he did not yet know the answer.

When he came back inside their home James had not gone to bed. He was sitting in the rocking chair by the hearth. A glass of dark liquid rested on the arm and in his hand. The orange light from the fire did little to cast away the shadows on his face.

Thomas suddenly felt tired. He sucked in a breath and sat down at their modest kitchen table next to him. Neither one of them spoke for a long minute. James was grimly still until he took a drink from his glass.

“Before we had the Urca gold,” he said, green eyes staring into the flame, “there was an incident one night at sea. We were being perused by The Scarborough. A sail brace had gotten tangled in the bow. Billy Bones and I climbed out to free us. He was swept overboard. I had his hand in mine but I lost him. Mr. Gates said something to me a few nights later about it.”

James paused and looked down into his drink, swirling it around. Thomas waited patiently.

“He said there were no legacies in life, no history. Just the water and that it pays us and then it claims us. Swallows us whole as if we’d never been there at all. I’ve memorized it verbatim. He never said Billy’s name, not once. But he looked at me a certain way. Full of sorrow…and a soft anger. I saw that same look in her eyes today.”

Thomas’s brows furrowed.

“And did you and Mr. Gates ever overcome this incident?”

James shook his head, looking back at the fire.

“No.”

He hung his head. “I killed him less than a day later.”

Thomas closed his eyes. James’s voice had been steady but his face revealed so much. His guilt was radiating off of him like the heat from the fireplace; constant and steady and unable to end unless someone extinguished it. Thomas had tried. Oh, how he had tried.

“She needs time,” he said softly. “She wants very much to befriend you.”

James laughed silently through his nose but his words were without mirth.

“Befriend a murdering pirate. Well, at least she’s open-minded.”

The anger rose sharp in Thomas. He stood and swiped up the bottle James had been drinking from off the floor and sat it down hard on the table.

“Do not wallow in self-pity, James, please. I forbid it.”

Thomas saw his jaw clench.

“I am… _trying,_ ” James said with measured patience. “I should not have told her,” he added. “I may have ruined everything. _Again._ ”

Thomas bit his tongue. He walked over to the fire and squatted in front of it, stoking it harshly with the poker. James’s self loathing was stronger than ever. He struggled not to drown in it. If Thomas could smack it out of James he gladly would have.

Thomas closed his eyes again. The story he had never wanted to tell replaced the rebuke on his tongue.

“We both have our share of sins,” he said into the flames. He sensed James still behind him.

“You’ve always known me as a man of action,” he continued, gently putting down the poker and resting on his haunches before the fire.

“Perhaps not action in the sense a naval officer might consider the word, but I knew that to get things done, one need only to start to do them. And I’ve told you a little about the horrors of Bethlem. But there was something that happened shortly after my arrival to Oglethorpe’s. I had been there for three, maybe four months; I can no longer recall exactly. There was a particular guard at that time. His name was Henson. The other guards treated us decently and fairly, if not as kind as Oglethorpe. But Henson had a drinking problem. And when he drank, his already-cold nature became violent as well. Numerous times during those few months I saw him beat other prisoners. One day I wasn’t feeling well and he came on duty. I knew immediately he was drunk. Loud and belligerent, he broke off a piece of cane and whipped me with it until I bled for not working fast enough. If not for the explicit threat of being shipped back to Bethlem for any kind of assault, I would have gladly sought out vengeance on him, or at least defended myself better. As it was, the fear of Bethlem kept me submissive to his abuses, as it or fear of a worse place did for most other prisoners.”

Thomas paused. His legs were beginning to ache so he rose and took a drink from the bottle of rum. James was watching him but Thomas avoided his gaze.

“Was Oglethorpe not aware of these abuses?” James asked with a tinge of anger in his voice.

Thomas nodded. “He was, but all Henson suffered each time was a cut in pay and a scolding. Not enough of either to curb his habit. So it was that one day as I was returning to the fields from a lunch break I saw Henson and another prisoner I knew—Jacob— walking some distance behind a tool shed. It looked as though Henson was forcing Jacob’s hand so I followed them. I don’t know if I was more curious or more concerned at that point.

I hid behind a tree and saw Henson crowding Jacob up against the shed. I could see his lewd behavior even from a distance. Jacob was cowering under him. Henson forced Jacob to his knees while he unbuckled his pants.”

James pensively leaned forward in the rocking chair. Thomas dared a look at him before returning his gaze to the fire as well.

“I watched, disgusted, as Henson took advantage of Jacob. But it could have been worse, I thought. But then Henson pulled Jacob off him and stood him up and turned him around. Jacob protested loudly before Henson slapped him hard several times. Then Henson pulled down Jacob’s trousers and raped him.”

The heat was burning his eyes. Thomas closed them, savoring the sting. He gripped the bottle of rum too tightly in his hand. Oh, what it was like to revisit hell.

“Thomas…”

James’s voice, now soft, threatened to make him lose his nerve.

“And I watched,” he continued. “Or rather, I turned away and did nothing. My first instinct was to confront Henson and try to stop it, but I froze. I knew he was drunk. And I knew I was a prisoner. And I knew Bethlem still awaited me. I knew so many things in that moment, but I had forgotten the most important thing—taking action— and I did nothing. I turned and walked away.”

Thomas swallowed hard. He let out a shaky sigh. The rocking chair creaked as James rose from it but Thomas stilled him again with a hand.

“I walked away,” he repeated. He felt as though barbs were in his throat as he spoke. “I did not see Jacob until the next day. He spent it in his bunk. A doctor had given him stitches. He lay there, battered and bruised, flat on his stomach. And he looked at me as I walked past him to my bunk. I caught his gaze. And I swear to this day he knew. He knew I could have done something. I’m certain it was my own guilt, but still…”

“I’m so sorry,” said James. Thomas opened his eyes. James was standing close to him.

“Don’t be,” said Thomas, feeling a flicker of his anger return as he looked at his lover. “I felt guilty because I did not help him when I had the chance. I spent so many damn years talking but not doing, and when a moment for doing finally came I failed. Tell me James, is your guilt because you took a girl’s father from her or because you’ve added to your list of sins? Do you even care about Abigail? About Sundi? No,what I mean to ask is _can_ you even care for them? Do you even fucking _want_ to?”

Thomas felt his anger rise with each new word, jabbing at James like a sword. James blinked.

“What? How could you ask me that?”

“Because I honestly don’t know!” Thomas yelled. “I don’t know if any of the same James is left in you, if you even want to try and find him again.” Thomas heard the desperation creep into his voice. “Or if hiding away here is your way of answering that question, because I’m sorry, but I don’t know James, I don’t know…”

He cut off, afraid of sounding hysterical. James turned away and made a moaning sound, racking his hands over his hair.

“I do want to try!” he said, turning back around. “I _am_ trying! Jesus Christ, Thomas! I am _terrified_ , all right? Is that what you need to hear? I know you have the ability to overcome this; you are fucking _made_ to overcome this and every other adversity and horror fate has thrown at you. And you could flourish. It’s one of the reasons I love you. But me?”

The pain in James’s eyes was too much to bear and Thomas closed his.

“I don’t think that I can,” whispered James. “There is plenty I have and have not done. And no matter how hard I try…I still feel…broken.”

Thomas felt paralyzed. They said nothing. Then, in a ragged voice James said, “If you ever decide you cannot endure this, I will not stop you from leaving.”

Thomas blinked. Was James assuming he could _leave_ him? It was not quite rage that struck Thomas then but it was just as blindingly intense.

“Oh goddamn you!” he cried. And he was striking James’s chest, pushing against him even as his fists curled into his shirt. James stumbled backward, pulling Thomas with him. They crashed into the hanging pots and pans, sending them careening to the ground.

And then Thomas was kissing him like a madman.

*

Pain shot through James’s shoulder as it was pressed against a fallen pan. He flailed helplessly but quickly realized Thomas was not trying to fight him, he was _kissing_ him.

A jagged whimper escaped his throat and he kissed Thomas back. They were frustrated, angry kisses. His mouth groped like a fish at Thomas’s lips and chin and jawline. And Thomas was pressing his body into James’s. He ground down over James’s crotch with his own until James could feel his hardness through his trousers.

They broke for much needed air, panting and gasping. Thomas’s eyes were barely open.

“Fuck James,” he breathed out.

They climbed to their feet. There was only a few second’s pause before James was pulling Thomas to him, hooking the curve of his neck and tasting his lips again. They shed their clothes as quickly as they could and oh Christ, how good Thomas felt under his hands, sun-tanned skin sculptured by labor and now hot to the touch and how James couldn’t bear life with the thought of never touching it again.

James pushed him up against the wall, his cock sliding up and down over Thomas’s cleft. Thomas sucked in air through his teeth and moaned. James wasn’t certain what this was or why it had seemed to possess both of them. He only knew that it was some kind of compromise or temporary agreement and that he fucking _needed_ to feel Thomas like he needed to breathe air.

“Thomas,” he stuttered out.

“Yes, please,” came the answer in a hushed tone James knew well.

As soon as he was ready James pushed inside Thomas. He let out a long, low whimper. Thomas cursed softly. James hugged Thomas’s body to his own, fucking him with more energy than he’d felt in a while. And Thomas ate up everything he gave, until they were both sweating masses of flesh against the wall.

James withdrew and Thomas cried out. But James quickly took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned to Thomas, who mounted him there. Once again the feel of filling up Thomas touched every fiber of his being, lighting him up from the inside-out. He felt alive.

Thomas was fairly delirious. He kept uttering into James’s ear not to stop touching him, voice nearly keening several times. Finally James took him flat on his back, the need for release pushing them for a more comfortable position.

He came hard inside Thomas, who held him tight, ankles around his back. He felt his body tremble all over, face growing hot. He watched afterwards, in a daze, as Thomas came, pressing his head back as far as it would go on the bed.

James felt drunk. He rested his head on Thomas’s chest for an undetermined amount of time afterwards. He let Thomas’s heartbeat lull him to sleep.

*

Thursday morning began like any other day. With Sundi’s assistance they tended to the farm, the garden, the horses, and checked the traps. Around noon Thomas reminded James that the McMullen boys might stop by, in which case they would need to be persuaded to find something else to do that day so that Sundi did not have to spend it hiding in the stable.

Instead Mr. McMullen showed up at their front at half past one. Sundi stayed in the back of the cabin.

“I thought Mr. Hamilton here might be interested in a new posting at the print and binding store Mr. Ellis runs.”

Mr. McMullen, a tall man with a oddly thick mustache and silver hair, accepted a cup of tea as he spoke.

“Oh?” said Thomas. “I thought Mr. Ellis’s son was going to join him in running the family business.”

James looked up, surprised that Thomas new this bit of information. He himself had scarcely remembered who Mr. Ellis was.

“Yes well, in addition to printing and binding books, Mr. Ellis has great need to expand his store into a proper post office and bookstore as well. As I’m sure you’re both aware, our little town has grown by leaps and bounds these past few years.”

James was not aware in the slightest, but it made sense. More people were coming to the New World everyday.

“And so,” Mr. McMullen continued, “Mr. Ellis and his son wish to have help. Furthermore, they mentioned wanting to have a chronologist. As soon as he mentioned the job I thought of you, Mr. Hamilton. I know you have a love of worldly knowledge and are very well educated. I thought perhaps this might be of some interest.”

“Thank you very much for thinking of me,” replied Thomas evenly. “It does sound tempting, but…”

At last Thomas looked at him. James realized his fingernails were digging into his palm and he relaxed his fists at his side.

“…I will need to take it under consideration,” finished Thomas, turning back to McMullen.

Mr. McMullen nodded. “Of course. It would be some distance to travel on a daily basis from here. You might consider moving into town. And Mr. Ellis wanted me to mention for the sake of basic necessity that the pay would be fair to start out, especially for someone as learned as you.”

Thomas smiled and nodded.

“I thank you for relaying the message, Mr. McMullen.”

Then McMullen turned to James.

“The offer is open to you as well James, although I believe you already told me your talents lie with woodwork.”

James forced a smile and good-naturedly spoke his way around the offer.

Mr. McMullen stayed and chit-chatted for a few more minutes, and while James had never minded his company and did appreciate any news he brought, his news today only made him anxious all over again. But there was little time to discuss matters with Thomas after McMullen took his leave. They needed to prepare for the evening and their unofficial visit to Goddard Plantation.


	7. Chapter 7

They arrived on time, just after sunset, with James on his horse and Sundi riding double with Thomas. They left their rides behind a tall line of bushes on the extreme south side of the plantation property, where there was nothing but a very small creek; no fields and no slave quarters. The closest overseer tower was some fifty feet away.

Thomas fidgeted with the black tunic he wore from head to toe. It was little more than a large piece of cloth with head and arm-holes, cruder than the ones James had his crew wear once upon a time for similar nighttime activities, but it did the job. James wore his as well. He’d offered one to Sundi and they had all laughed.

James told them to double-check their weapons. They did so, then Sundi nodded towards the plantation. Wordlessly James and Thomas nodded back.

Just before they emerged from the bushes James compulsively grabbed hold of Thomas and pulled him into a kiss.

“It will be all right, I know it,” Thomas whispered to him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him back. James gave a him a tight smile, not trusting himself to speak.

A thousand possibilities had spun around his head all day. He did what he did best, which was to predict everything that might go wrong, to plan out contingences, to take everything into account.

It left him feeling no more confident than before they had planned out anything.

As they stayed low to the ground and made their way onto the Goddard property James realized, too late perhaps, how terribly easy it had been as Captain Flint to carry out his plans. Miranda was safely tucked away in New Providence’s belly, away from danger. He had only himself to worry about, and in his darkest moments even his own well being had not concerned him. Now, he had Thomas.

The light from dozens of lanterns scattered throughout the fields offered some illumination. As Sundi had said, the guards now carried these after dark, and they walked their perimeter in pairs. The three of them clustered behind a tool shed at the edge of a rice paddy.

“Four towers, each with one guard,” Sundi whispered. And from here they had a view of all four towers, each lit with a hanging lantern. Dimly James could make out the guards in the tops of each one, their red coats bright even in the dank light.

This was perhaps the most challenging ordeal of the evening. Each guard in his tower had a set pattern. They were required to look out in all four directions, taking turns at standing in each direction for roughly three minutes at a time. It would therefore take all six pairs of eyes to spot the correct moment in which to sprint across the field and to a new point of cover whilst all four guards were facing away from them. This, they had decided, would need to occur three times before they reached Chi’s quarters, not yet visible from where they were. The guards on the ground would remain on the perimeter of the fields only, with no reason to patrol the interior unless something aroused their suspicion.

Both James and Thomas entrusted Sundi to give the order to move. So they all intently watched the guards until the perceived the pattern. Then they waited for it to happen again. When the last of the guards turned heel and marched away from them, Chi pushed on his companion’s shoulders.

“Now! Go!”

Already pushing off before he had said ‘go,’ James and Thomas rushed out from behind the shed and to a well that had a long pile of large, stuffed-full burlap sacks stacked beside it. The stack was not nearly as wide as James had thought and they crammed together, hidden from the towers but completely exposed on one side. James felt the sweat break out on his forehead. Silently Sundi pointed to their next target. James tugged hard on his tunic and pointed across from them, where two guards were strolling down the path on their exposed side. All three of them froze. The distance to the guards was perhaps a hundred yards, James judged. If they stayed still and quiet they should be fine.

The guards took impossibly long to pass and turn back the way they came. At one point they stopped walking altogether and shared in something that made them both laugh. James felt his legs beginning to cramp. Beside him Thomas was breathing heavily. At last the two men moved out of their line of sight.

From this positions they had only three guard towers to worry about. Again, they all watched for the pattern in the guards’ positions, and again Chi, spurred them onward. This time they ran behind one of the slave quarters. Their next stop—another stretch of some thirty yards, James figured—was Chi’s quarters. They made it there safely, huddled against the side of the small building.

“I should go in alone,” whispered Sundi. James nodded. If two white men dressed in black suddenly appeared inside, confusion would no doubt ensue.

Sundi crept around to the door while he and Thomas remained vigilant, looking in all directions. Another pair of guards was passing by them to the north. James shrugged the cloth over his mouth higher up his nose. He and Thomas pressed themselves against the building. James was burning up inside the cloth, his sweat making him itch. He check his belt again, noting the dagger and two pistols. Thomas silently did the same.

“We don’t have any cover,” Thomas whispered to him, pointing dead ahead. “We’ll have to make it all at once.” The rest of the rice field stretched out before them, with nothing but the shallow ditches to hide in.

“Don’t forget, if we get spotted…,” said James.

Thomas nodded.

Just then the door opened and Sundi emerged, with another slave behind him. When he saw James and Thomas he looked back at Sundi, hesitating. Sundi nodded reassuringly, gripping his arm and pulling him alongside the building.

“This is my brother Chi,” he whispered.

James nodded curtly at him. Chi did the same. Looking at them side by side now there was certainly no family resemblance and Abigail’s observation was made more solid. They were lovers.

And James had thought it hard to be with Thomas; two Englishmen in high society with all the freedom they needed to love one another behind closed doors. How little he’d taken into consideration then.

“Wait,” said Thomas as they prepared to move again. A light from the main house clicked on. A minute later two figures emerged from it. One of them had a dog. James saw one man was a guard but the other…he squinted as the men came towards the fields.

“Who the fuck is it?” Thomas asked, his cursing giving away his nerves.

“It’s Micheal Collard,” James said in half disbelief. “What the fuck is he doing?”

Sundi cursed in his native tongue.

“With the master away he must be overseeing the property. A token of good intent since he’s to marry Miss Ashe.”

“They are coming straight towards us!” hissed Chi.

Mr. Collard and the guard were on friendly terms with one another and chatted comfortably. They were in no hurry but the dog—a German Shepherd—was nothing but the worst trouble. Any minute it would smell them or hear them or see them if it was trained and he had no doubt it was.

“Quickly,” said James. “We must move. Chi, watch the guards on the ground while we watch the towers. We must move as one straight up the field and over that embankment.”

Chi nodded, still looking bewildered but comprehending. Sundi squeezed his shoulder and said something to him in his own language. Chi replied likewise. James could only imagine Sundi was trying to comfort him, to tell him it would be okay. James felt his determination to get them out of this place grow.

They watched the towers, but when all eyes were away Chi hissed out at a pair of ground guards passing directly in their path. James cursed inwardly. It was the joking pair, taking their job not serious at all and dawdling on their route.

Behind them Mr. Collard’s voice grew louder and clearer. James’s hand strayed to his pistol. They were nearly out of time. The distance they had to cover was large.

“We cannot wait any longer,” said Thomas. James clenched his teeth. “One more time,” he said, nodding at the guard towers. They waited. James’s legs ached. Behind them Mr. Collard was talking about fucking peaches, of all things.

“Now,” James and Sundi hissed out at the same time.

They bolted out from the shack and across the field. No other sound reached James’s ears save for the pounding of their feet and his own pulse. But then the dog.

The barking started, loud and rapid. Another few seconds passed as they ran and then the shouts began, led by Collard.

“Intruders! There! There! Over there!”

The dog was nearly upon them. A gunshot rang out behind them.

“Fuck, run!” James shouted needlessly. He already felt as though his heart were going to burst but he pushed on, making sure Thomas was beside him. Then suddenly Chi went out of his view. He’d stumbled over a ditch, precious seconds lost and the German Shepherd was on him, snarling and snapping. Sundi shouted and bodily slammed into it.

“Split up!” said James, pointing to his left, which was east and where they had decided Sundi and Chi should run to lest they get caught. It led straight into the woods at the end of the plantation.

“Here! Over here!” yelled Thomas, advancing and then retreating from the dog to get its attention away from the escaping Negroes. Two more gunshots. This time so close James jumped. It had come from one of the towers. Across the way two ground guards were coming at them. He and Thomas had both drawn their pistols but there was no time.

James pushed Thomas’s back and they ran. From the corner of his eye James saw one of the advancing guards stop and take aim with his rifle at Thomas. James stopped and did the same, pulling the trigger first. The guard jolted backwards and fell. The second guard had already taken aim and fired. Pain shot through his thigh a second later. His leg gave out. He caught himself and kept from falling, but a sudden gush of warmth began running down his leg and James grimaced. Just then another shot fired and the guard dropped beside his fallen companion.

“James!”

It was Thomas who had fired. He ran back towards James, not realizing he’d been fleeing for several yards alone. James’s whipped his head around in time to see Michael Collard nearly upon him. He pulled out his second pistol, but abruptly felt someone close behind him. He whirled around and shot the guard whom Collard had been walking with. He had been poised to hit James with the butt of his rifle. Another shot from the north; Thomas. The guard cried out and a splash of blood came from his chest before he fell.

Another rifle butt rammed into him, hard enough to have him momentarily seeing stars. Collard. Then another punch to his injured thigh. Gritting his teeth James managed to scramble onto his back as Collard descended over him, straddling him and ripping the cloth away from his face. His eyes went wide, then he snarled.

“Mr. McGraw. I should have known you and your friend were trouble!”

James pushed back against the rifle that was being shoved down over his throat. The little asshole was trying to choke him. James pushed him back with brute strength, holding onto the rifle in the process. Collard toppled over. James scrambled to his feet but just as he did so two hands pulled his ankle out from under him. The damn guard Thomas had shot was still alive. James fell face first into the dirt. He felt his nose crack. Then just as quickly as he’d been grabbed the two hands disappeared. He heard a skirmish behind him. He rolled over and sat up. Thomas was taking his dagger to the guard until he stopped moving. The sight of Thomas Hamilton becoming violent rocked him for a moment too long.

Collard was on him again, punching and beating him. James fumbled with his grip on the rifle, managing to drive the bayonet into Collard’s side. Collard screamed and James shoved him off. He got a better grip on the rifle and jammed it into Collard’s stomach. Collard’s scream was cut off as the weapon punched through him. His eyes widened, mouth open as blood gurgled out of it. With a sneer James twisted the blade and finished the job.

“No!”

He registered Thomas’s voice before the gunshot, close by his ear. Not ten feet behind him another guard dropped. The strong smell of gunpowder hung in the air. To his left Thomas still had his second pistol aimed. He lowered it, looking dazed, and helped James to his feet. James winced and grunted. He glanced down at his leg. The dark crimson stain was trickling down towards his ankle now.

“Christ,” said Thomas, following his gaze.

Just then an alarm bell rang out from the southern end of the fields. James felt a flicker of hope surge through him again. Abigail. She was signaling the false direction of the intruders. There were four alarm bells placed on Goddard Plantation, one to represent each direction. Now the guards from the towers and the ground all sped off towards the southern end of the fields, well away from he and Thomas and also, James hoped, from Sundi and Chi.

“Come on,” grunted Thomas. He wrapped one arm under James’s arm. James put weight on his wounded leg and it screamed at him. He gritted his teeth and ignored it, half limping, half running with Thomas to the end of the fields. They made it off the plantation without further incident. James glanced behind them to see torches being lit everywhere. The slaves had been roused from their quarters. All manner of yelling ensued. Thomas urged them on into the safety of the underbrush and through it. They came out into a clearing a few minutes later, where a single horse awaited them, tied loosely to a tree branch, courtesy of the good Mr. McMullen and Family. James made a quick mental note to thank Mr. McMullen profusely for the animal if they could manage to make it out of this without further incident.

*

The horse was not as large as their own two horses and Thomas worried how far they would make it with their combined weight on the animal. He worried about Sundi and Chi. He even worried about Abigail, out there amidst all the chaos and confusion they had created. As a young woman she would have to explain why she was in the fields after dark to begin with. But now Thomas focused on the most important task at hand: getting his wounded lover into the saddle and then climbing into it in front of him. James’s leg terrified him.

“We need to wrap it,” he said.

James shook his head.

“There’s no time. They’ll be searching this entire area. We need to move.”

James wrapped his arms around Thomas’s waist. Thomas took the extra minute to make certain they were tight around him. He squeezed James’s hand as much to reassure him as to reassure himself. Then he snapped the reins and tapped his legs to the horse’s ribs and they were off.

They made a wide arc around the plantation and gradually circled back towards their cabin. Thomas was forced to slow the horse down to a steady gait because of the darkness. At some point he felt James slump too heavily against him.

“James? James!”

Thomas stopped the horse and James nearly fell off, clinging weakly to Thomas’s waist.

“Sorry. I’m fine,” he mumbled.

“No you are not. Get off so I can tend to your wound.”

“Thomas—”

“It was not a request,” he said firmly.

James threw his bad leg over the horse. Thomas had to catch him to keep him from falling. James winced again, eyes screwed shut and teeth bared. Thomas gently laid him out on the ground. He grabbed a candle from the satchel and lit it, digging its base into the ground to see what he was doing. James was trying to unfasten his pants. Thomas’s concern grew when he saw James was too weakened to do it. He swatted James’s hands away and cut the fabric with his dagger. His breath caught in his throat at all the blood. He could see no bullet embedded into his flesh.

“A bad flesh wound,” he said, ripping his sleeve and using it as a bandage. He hoped James did not see his hands shake. There was enough blood for its scent to curl into his nostrils. He shoved back the dark thought that James might bleed to death before they made it home.

“We’ve got to…kept moving,” James gritted out.

Thomas helped him back into the saddle. Before he urged the horse on he turned around and looked at James’s thigh and frowned. His shirt sleeve had been from the black tunic and it was impossible to see how well the bandage was holding in the blood.

Thomas made the horse gallop when the way was clear, which wasn’t very often because they were avoiding the road. It took over an hour for them to make it back to the cabin.

They had agreed if they became separated, whoever made it to the cabin first would leave a candle in the window to let the other parties know they were safe. Thomas’s heart sank when he saw that everything was dark.

Thomas quickly dismounted and helped James down again and brought him inside. He lit three candles and put one in the window, one beside James slumped in a chair and the third so he could see to gather supplies: water and a clean wash cloth, some salve, and proper gauze. The last item was leftover from when Thomas had cut himself skinning a rabbit last fall and they had to make a hurried trip to town, realizing after the fact that they should have had medicinal supplies handy.

Grateful for the gauze Thomas returned to James, who had grown pale but was still responsive. He said little as Thomas cared for his wound, getting him out of his pants to clean it and then re-wrap it with the salve coating the wound. He caught James smiling at him.

“James, are you delirious?” he asked, not joking in the least.

“No. It’s just I have spent this entire time readying myself for when I might need to protect you, to save you, and it seems I had it all backwards.”

“You did save me out there tonight.”

“You saved me more,” he countered, trying to laugh but wincing instead.

“Hush,” said Thomas, gently dabbing his forehead with the damp wash cloth. His hands were still shaking. We wonder if his voice did too. He couldn’t see the blood on the piece of tunic he threw away but the thing was soaked. His hands came away red. He washed them hastily and went back to James, who looked at him with bleary eyes. He was covered in sweat. Thomas cupped his cheek tenderly.

“James?”

Jesus, his voice quaked. There were tears in his eyes.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so much and I never want you to leave me, ever.”

James’s pupils grew wide as he regained some focus. His brows drew up and there was that look that keeled Thomas over, so full of everything.

“I’m…not going to die, you silly lord,” James managed with a crooked smile. Thomas half laughed, half cried in response, wiping over his forehead and cheeks with a cloth.

“I know that,” he said. “I only meant…even if this did not work, even if they do not make it back here, I loved that you tried. And I’m sorry for what I said earlier, that you didn’t truly care about Abigail or these men. I heard your story about the marooners but I did not truly listen. When Sundi first made his plan known to us, I was still imagining the James McGraw who was smitten with me, who wanted only to please me but was still too cynical to truly believe that such…actions…were worth the doing of them. I was wrong.”

James shook his head, closing his eyes and slowly opening them. He took Thomas’s hand in his own and laid it on his chest.

“You weren’t wrong to doubt me,” he said as lethargy crept into his voice. “I…didn’t think I was capable of caring for anyone else besides you ever again. For so long I’ve only cared about one person at a time. First Miranda, when we were without you, and then John Silver, when I was without her. But I was wrong as well. I care about her, about Abigail.”

James stopped, closing his eyes again. Thomas’s heart sped up with anxiety. James might not be dying but he’d still lost a great deal of blood and would need some recovery time regardless. Thomas roused him and made him drink water and eat some bread. Then he helped James stand and together they limped to the bedroom. Thomas helped him into the bed and onto his good side, leaving his wounded thigh visible to Thomas so that he might tend to it if need be.

“I hate sleeping on this side,” James muttered, already half asleep.

Thomas smiled but said nothing, stroking his hair until James was sound asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. It was too short by itself so I threw the epilogue in with it. I hope everyone is satisfied with it. There were a few changes I wanted to make but didn't get the chance. I had so much fun writing this. <333

Sundi was exhausted but he kept on through the woods, spurred onward by the shouts still echoing from the plantation and the alarm bell sounding. Beside him Chi struggled to keep up. They had paused long enough for Sundi to insist they cover their bodies with the mud and dirt of the earth to throw the dogs off their track.

“Is this how you escaped before?” Chi had asked.

“Yes. I made it all the way to where we are going now.”

“To the home of more white devils?” Chi asked incuriously, his face filled with worry. “I still do not understand why. Or why they helped us…”

“Come on!” said Sundi, pulling him by the wrist until they were running again. Sundi made sure they did not move in a straight line. He knew his direction back to the cabin. This way, James had assured him, was also shorter than the way he had come the first time and as long as they kept to it he hoped they would arrive their safely and before the sun was too high in the sky. At night they had a chance, but in the daylight, he knew it would take just one person to see them and they would be done for.

“S-stop, stop, I must rest,” Chi pleaded, stumbling to halt after what seemed like an eternity of moving. Sundi reluctantly stopped as well but he did not protest. They would need to conserve at least some energy, now that the plantation was far behind and there had been no sign that they were being tracked.

Chi leaned heavily against a tree. They took a long drag of water from the canteen Sundi had strapped across his shoulder, having thought ahead to this moment.

“You must tell me why you trust them, these whites,” Chi said when he had caught his breath. “And why it is you were foolish enough to come back for me. You should have kept going,” he insisted, not without some anger. Sundi bowed his head.

“Do not tell me such things,” he said. “I could not leave you there. You would have done the same for me.”

Chi stilled. Sundi looked up and met his gaze, illuminated only by the moon and stars. He placed his hands on Chi’s shoulders and gently kissed him. Chi startled and looked around them out of habit, but there was no one around and the dark was their safe haven, as it had always been. He kissed Sundi back, pressing his lips deep against the other’s.

“I was beside myself with both worry and joy,” whispered Chi. “I wanted so badly to follow you that night we were caught. You put your life in danger so that I might live. A part of me wanted you to never come back, but the other part of me could not bear the loneliness of your absence.”

Sundi hugged him tight, cradling the back of his head with a hand. When he pulled back he looked at his lover in earnest.

“Listen to me. You asked why I would place so much trust in these two white men. They _are_ men, Chi, and they are men like us.”

Chi blinked, uncomprehending.

“What are you talking about? They are white! They could not possibly—”

“Chi, they are men like _us_ ,” Sundi repeated carefully.

Chi stilled again. He looked away, lips pressed tightly together. He met Sundi’s eyes with a silent questioning. Sundi nodded.

“Yes,” Sundi confirmed, gripping Chi’s shoulders tighter. “And they were cast out by their own people for it. But they fought back. The one you will meet with a red beard, James, he was a pirate who helped out other slaves. And the yellow-haired one, Thomas, he was a wealthy man who wanted to pardon the pirates and does not believe in slavery either. And Chi, they live _together,_ and by themselves, able to do as they please.”

He couldn’t hide the excitement creeping into his voice. Voicing all these revelatory ideas seemed to make the possibility of them swell deep inside his chest. But Chi looked as frightened as he did in awe.

“You are forgetting one thing,” he replied calmly. “They are still white, no matter their crimes. It could never be the same for us Sundi, not here.”

Sundi’s eyes danced in the moonlight.

“No,” he said. “Not _here._ ”

*

He stayed up the rest of the night, alternating between the bedroom to check on James and the hearth, which was between the window with is burning candle and the door. There were plenty of night sounds around their cabin that Thomas had become accustomed to the same way he’d grown used to the mockingbird that bubbled and rasped from the rooftop in the mornings. But tonight every sound made him twitch or even jump; the far-off hoot of an owl, the shuffling sounds of something moving through the bushes, even the shadowy figures of the deer that frequented their farm at night kept him on edge.

He checked on James more than was necessary, still half afraid he might slip into unconsciousness. But James’s breathing remained steady and he moved little. The bleeding had slowed, much to Thomas’s relief.

The hours slipped away into dawn and a hazy purple light filled the cabin when a knock came to the door, jarring Thomas out of his half-sleep at the table. He got up, clutching a pistol in his hand just in case. He realized there was just as good a chance they might be visited by Goddard’s men and not Sundi and his lover. Though he had racked his brain trying to recall any distinct moment of being recognized and had found none, it had been very dark and Thomas could not be certain.

He warily crossed over to the door, cocking the pistol and slowly opening it. It was Abigails Ashe who greeted him. She wore riding gloves and her face was somewhat dirtied. Behind her stood Sundi and Chi, looking at him nervously.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Abigail said with a small courtesy. “I seem to have quite literally ran into our friends on the way here. May we come in?”

Thomas smiled, feeling all the muscles in body sag with relief.

*

Thomas wouldn’t let him leave the bed. When he’d heard the familiar voices coming from the main room he’d tried to get up but, unprepared for the stiff ache in several of his joints he’d clumsily leaned into his thigh while trying to gently roll off the mattress, resulting in loud cursing. Thomas was there seconds later, relief flooding his face as he chastised him and bade him to sit up in bed while everyone came to him.

James lowered his eyes when they fell upon Abigail. Inwardly he cursed at his own cowardice. A grown man, unable to met the gaze of a girl. _A young woman_ he reminded himself for the tenth time.

“I am very sorry you were shot,” said Sundi. “I did not mean for this to happen.”

“It was not your fault in the least,” said James. “ _Our_ plan, remember?”

Sundi nodded. Then he turned and made room for his partner. Chi was as timid looking as Sundi had been, James saw.

“Hello Chi,” he said, doing his best to remember how to sound polite and welcoming. “I’m glad you are here with us.”

Chi looked him up and down rather unabashedly after that, then nodded.

“Sundi tells me…you are like us,” Chi said, looking from James to Thomas.

Sundi hissed something sharp in his own language at him then, looking disturbed. Chi quickly said something back. James looked to Thomas, wondering what was happening. Then Chi’s voice became calmer, almost soothing to Sundi before he returned to address everyone else in English.

“He is afraid of the two of you knowing about us,” he explained. “He told me on our way here that the two of you…live and work together, outside of the cares of your society. And that there is a place we might go to where we can do the same.”

James felt himself smiling. Thomas echoed it.

“Yes,” said Thomas. “I know it sounds hard to believe, but there is a place in the Bahamas, an island that white men have not yet taken over, where there is an entire community of Africans, living free of the yolk and led by a queen.”

Thomas turned to James to finish the story. James told them of the Maroon Queen and her accomplished daughter and remarkable husband. He gave an overview of the war and the unexpected slave revolt. He did not leave out the darker things, the consequences that many slaves faced. Nor did he leave out the toll it took on the pirates. He finished by going back to the free community of Africans. The news they received from the West Indies was always volatile, but James had no cause to suspect it was not still there.

“And you can see to it that we can arrive there safely? Cross thousands of miles of ocean, without being captured as slaves?” Chi asked, still not convinced.

“I can assure you that I can get you a trustworthy captain, who would be willing to take on two stowaways and take them to New Providence,” replied James smoothly. “Since I’ve been in Savannah I’ve kept close ties with the merchant captains. New Providence is close to the maroon community. There are people there—one woman in particular, if I’m to believe she is still there, and I’m most certain she is—who would be very willing to provide you with transport to that island.”

Sundi and Chi spoke to one another softly in their own tongue. James watched them carefully, seeing the way Sundi looked at him. He cared deeply for Chi. He loved him.

“We will do it,” said Sundi in English and offering a nervous smile. James also noticed, weather consciously or not, that Sundi he was holding Chi’s hand. Chi did not pull away.

“Excellent,” said Thomas, clasping his hands together. “I shall write up a few articles of paperwork that might aid you.”

They filed out of the room but Abigail lingered. James swallowed hard, glancing at her.

She came to his side of the bed and looked over his wound. Thomas had cleaned it and changed the bandaging. A small circle of red still spread over the white cloth.

“Mr. McGraw, I….”

She trailed off, frowning deeply. James waited for the admonitions that were sure to come.

“I am deeply shocked and saddened by the death of my father,” she said at last in a very quite tone. “As I am by your actions in Charlestown. However, despite all of it, I cannot help but feel saddest of all for you. What my father allowed to happen in his house that day…it was unforgivable. Likewise, I do not think I can forgive the act of you murdering him. However, I cannot imagine how you must have felt after Lady Hamilton’s death.”

James swallowed the stones in his throat, blinking and turning away. That day was still too painful to think about. He’d barely been able to tell Thomas about it before breaking down. But what was this Abigail was saying to him?

“And I know enough of the circumstances surrounding you to recognize that becoming a pirate was not what you wanted,” Abigail continued. “Other choices…were taken from you. You must have been terribly angry. I could not understand that earlier. But now that I realize about you and Mr.Ham—Thomas, I think it has lifted much of the fog from my mind.”

Ah. A realization, he knew, she had just learned about from Chi. If it had shocked her in any way she did not show it.

“You…are not appalled by it?” he ventured, looking up at her fully now.

Abigial shook her head. “No. Never. I have never had reason to find such a thing appalling. It is love, after all, is it not?”

She seemed to be genuinely asking the question, convinced of whatever ideas had formed in her mind on the subject but in need of confirmation. James nodded. Now it was his turn to be in shock. How this young woman could be so accepting, so sweet, in the world from which she had sprung? _By the same miracle that a man like Thomas can come from such a world,_ he answered himself. James nodded.

“Yes, it is love,” he replied.

What else was there to say?

*

Epilogue

*

Sundi waited anxiously in the tavern. He had never seen a place quite like it, or anything like Nassau for that matter. There were white men and women everywhere and they were loud and careless…but they paid little mind to him or the other Negro standing next to him. They had suffered several turned heads and stares, but no one said anything to them or had approached them with malice. In fact, the longer Sundi studied this strange place, the more it seemed there were people from many stations in life all crowded here; from merchant sailors to rougher-looking pirates, to rather bland, nondescript men and women, to the prostitutes who seemed to behave as though they had as much power as the men.

It was all very overwhelming. Chi was practically clinging to him and telling him they should leave by the time one of the prostitutes introduced them to The Madame James had spoken about, the one woman who would supposedly be willing to help them complete their journey. James had mentioned that her appearance should help set their minds at ease and now Sundi saw why.

The Madame was dark-skinned. Not as dark as he and Chi, but certainly not white. Her jet-black hair was beautiful, with two long and curly locks framing her face. She wore a very beautiful dress, with some rings and a pearl necklace.

“Hello, Sundi and Chi, is it?” She spoke to them with an accent that was foreign to Sundi’s ears but very clear.

Max offered her hand. It took Sundi a full minute to realize that she wanted to shake his hand. She was smiling at him, her eyes soft and gentle.

“It is all right,” she told them. “My name is Max, and I am told that you both wish to travel to a certain place, far away from the lash of whips and back-breaking labor of the colonies.”

Sundi looked at Chi, feeling more excited and less anxious. He nodded.

“Yes ma’am. We were told you would be able to provide transportation to such a place.”

Max’s lips curved in a ghost of a smile.

“Not me personally, but I can get you the only captain who has been to this island. He has a tendency to over-speak and is…well, a little different from the rest, but I assure you he will get both of you there and will tell no one.”

Max snapped her fingers and as if by magic a woman appeared by her side.

“Georgia, please tell Captain Rackham I have need of his services,” said Max. “Or tell Anne, whichever you see first.”

She turned back to them.

“You both must be tired and hungry. Please, sit down while we wait for Captain Rackham and have some soup, at least.”

“Ma’am,” said Sundi as she turned to walk away. Max paused.

“I am sorry, but, could you tell me why you are doing this and do not want any money in return?”

Max smiled more broadly, though it seemed sad to Sundi.

“I was not born into this,” she said, indicating herself and the tavern. “I was born and grew up much as you did, I would imagine. But it does not always have to be so.”

And she bowed her head at them and turned away. Sundi blinked, somewhat stunned. Beside him and under the table, Chi gripped his hand fiercely, smiling for the first time since their escape.

*

__

_Mr. Hamilton and Mr. McGraw,_

_This is Mr. McMullen. I am sorry I did not find you home when I stopped by earlier, but I felt it urgent to let Mr. McGraw know that a position has opened in town. The cabinetmaker, Mr. Pascal, has passed away, and no other persons in town has yet to be identified as capable of his skills to replace him. I thought of you, Mr. McGraw. Now both you and Mr. Hamilton may have a job in town if you so choose._

_Sincerely,_

_Mr. McMullen_

James sat the letter down. It had been wedged in their door upon their return from the docks. James had successfully found a ship and captain to sail to New Providence. Abigail had insisted on coming along to see them off. They had all three spoke at length on the return trip. With Michael Collard dead Abigail announced her intentions to pursue a relationship with a kind young man she already fancied. James was glad to hear this. She also wanted to come and visit them, but Thomas had worried that his and James’s relationship with the Goddards was too tainted for such a thing.

“I have been too yielding to my aunt,” Abigail had told them. “I am fully aware that I am old enough not to need her permission. I shall go where I want and see whom I wish, when I wish it. And Jonathan (the name of her fancy) will have no problem with it.”

James had chuckled lowly, wondering if this was a reflection of the suitor’s personality or simply Abigail’s newfound willpower. Yet her words had carried no haughtiness to them and again James was reminded of Miranda in her. This time the memory was much less painful and more affectionate.

“Well I certainly hope Jonathan is up to the challenge,” Thomas had said light-heartedly. Abigail had blushed.

They had dropped her off at home, daring only to ride up to the massive iron gates and not the house itself. Before leaving them Abigail had lightly embraced each of them. As they had left the estate Thomas had caught the look on James’s face. He’d bent over and pecked his cheek. James wiped at his eyes.

“Bloody hell,” he’d muttered. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Old age, I suppose.”

Thomas had smiled wryly.

“Old age. Of course,” he’d said.

*

Now, James stared down at McMullen’s letter from his seat, then up to Thomas.

“It is entirely up to you,” Thomas said.

James sighed. He pushed back from the table, knuckles brushing over his lips as he thought. Thomas waited patiently.

“I want this,” James said at last. “I truly do. But…”

And again Thomas saw his resolve falter, eyes clouding with the same fear they had the night they’d argued so intensely. Thomas knelt down and took James’s face in his hands.

“You can do this,” he said. “I will help you. You told me earlier that you still felt broken. I daresay I feel the same, but honestly James, who gives a fuck?”

Thomas surprised himself with the words, but they felt true. James blinked at him, eyes searching for more, but then a smile crept into the corner of his lips.

“Fuck it,” he said. “We’ll remain here but work in town. We’ll tend to the farm when we can, deliver to the neighbors for a few shillings more. You will make one hell of a chronologist.”

“Oh, I’m planning on doing more than reporting the news,” Thomas said with a gleam in his eye.

James grinned. “What? More moral treatises? Shall I spread pamphlets for you? If we’re not careful we’ll wind up in jail.”

Thomas actually snickered. “No, nothing that public. There are plenty of ways and places to spread underground popular opinion without attracting attention.”

James shook his head, feigning his disapproval. “Good God, what am I going to do with you?”

Thomas wrapped his arms around James’s thick neck and kissed him.

“Help make supper, for starters.”

“Mmm hmm. And what else?”

“I need to change the dressing on your thigh.”

“I’ve been doing that just fine on my own.”

“Well I’m certain there’s other things inside your pants that need attending to.”

James laughed. He pulled Thomas close to him, planting chaste kisses on his neck. He still felt uncertain about their future. He wondered if this was the rest of his days, here on a peach farm outside of Savannah in the New World, or if the fates had other designs for him. What he did know was that Thomas would be with him no matter what. Their relationship was not perfect. He had come to accept that they would never truly be out from under the shadows of the past, but perhaps that was not the point. There was no way to continue where they had left off; the pieces of what was broken were an ocean away and long since turned to dust. But perhaps life, like love and peaches, always found a way to renew itself when it had been beaten down or withered away.

James closed his eyes and for a moment his senses seemed to sharpen. He could smell fish and brine in the air and feel the steady breeze on his back. He imagined the feel of Miranda’s hand taking his, warm and welcoming. He could hear Hal Gate’s friendly bellowing voice in his ear and Mr. DeGroot complaining about the sails. He saw Eleanor Guthrie and remembered her delighted expression when he’d returned home. He remembered the first time he saw the depths behind Silver’s blue eyes, boring into his own. He saw the steps of Whitehall, guiding him to a young wigged man with a soft expression and determined sapphire eyes, ready to take on the world. He saw himself as a boy, stumbling upon a dead dog and asking Why for the first time, but still so filled with wonder and awe.

James opened his eyes.

“What should we have for supper?” he asked.

***

_“You have power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.”_

 

_“The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.”_

\--Marcus Aurelius


End file.
